


Love, Of Course, Excuses Everything

by ZionSunrise



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bodyswap, Bottom Dean, Can you blame him, Crack, Freaky Friday - Freeform, GUYS, Humor, I really used to just be a destiel shipper and something happened to me and now I can't stop, It's All John Winchester's Fault, Light BDSM, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Praise Kink, Prank Wars, Top Sam, Wincest - Freeform, annoyed bobby, chick flick moments, if I ever write top dean, loosely set in s2, maaaaybe a switch, send help, something is wrong with me, that boy is a bottom, very loosely, well-hung sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:00:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 46,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24256267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZionSunrise/pseuds/ZionSunrise
Summary: While fighting a (freakin' skeevy) witch, Sam and Dean end up switching bodies. As he's stuck in Sam's meatsuit, Dean realizes there might be one or two things he likes just a little too much about his brother's body, things he remembers after they switch back. Through a dangerous hunt, an escalating prank war, an exasperated Bobby, and maybe one or two chick-flick moments, the boys deal with their feelings and figure it out.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 101
Kudos: 434





	1. Chapter 1

"Mother fucking duplicitous-ass witches," Dean complained, pressing the gas pedal down another inch. "Why can't they ever prey on gross shit? Like- I don't know, snakes or-or people who don't wash their hands or airplane pilots? This is- it's too goddamn much. Like- really? Thirty fucking babies from the neonatal ward? What the _hell_ , Sam?" Sam leaned forward beside him, body more tension than man. 

"I don't know. But Dean- hurry. We only have an hour until they-" 

"Right," Dean said, watching the speedometer click up a few more notches. "Fuck," he said again. Routine hunt. It was always the 'routine hunts' that ended up spiraling like this. Start out with a few suspicious cattle mutilations, end up with a witch intent on bathing in a lake of babies' blood. Typical. Dean pulled up to the old rec center and glanced around the empty parking lot. His hair stood on end, and apprehension crawled along his skin. "Plan?"

"Get in there, surprise her, get iron on her? Shoot her? I don't know, Dean. We haven't exactly faced something like this before." Dean groaned, fingering his pistol. 

"So we wing it. Alright. Got the iron? And salt?"

"Salt- we don't know if salt will even-"

"Do we have the goddamn salt, Sammy?" Sam nodded, his jaw locking up. "Cool. Let's go." 

They crept into the old building, sweeping the hallways just in case. Nothing. The whole place was eerily empty and decrepit, and Dean found himself more happy to have Sam along than he'd been since the Scarecrow. Dealing with witches alone wasn't anybody's idea of a good time. They made it through the locker rooms, and Sam gave him a look as they peered out into the empty pool room, pointing to the back of the room. The pool was drained and the room was dark, despite the high glass windows along the back wall. The empty hole in the ground was weird enough too look at, but he followed Sam's gaze to the back, to the baby pool.

The babies were all lined up around the shallower hole in the ground, squirming and crying. Above them, an older woman stood, obscured by shadow, holding a book and chanting. Dean caught Sam's eyes. Sam nodded. Together they ran at her, and Dean aimed as he ran, firing the gun. The witch shrieked, grabbing at her shoulder as Dean barrelled into her. They both fell into the pool. It wasn't empty. Thick black liquid clung to his body, tugging him down.

"Sam! Iron! Today!" Dean yelled, grappling with the witch. He swore loudly, trying to hold her down as she squirmed. Power flung him back and his head cracked against the concrete. The world went blurry. He struggled back toward her, watching blearily as Sam's gigantic form crashed into her. A gunshot rang through the room. The woman screamed. Dark red blended into the black liquid. Then Dean felt himself falling backward, the world turning as dark as the water.

He woke up wet, covered in what felt like sticky water. Lube? Was he too drunk to remember a weird sex party- No, he'd been on a hunt. All around him, babies were crying, screaming, gurgling- he couldn't think. He rubbed his ears. Slowly, the details came back to him. His head didn't hurt nearly as much as it should, and he was freezing cold. Blearily he pulled himself up to a seated position.

"Sam?" he called, then frowned, his hand going to his throat. His voice was wrong. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Sammy!"

"Here," his own voice called back. Dean rubbed his eyes, praying to a hundred gods he didn't believe in that he wasn't too badly concussed. "Are you okay?" 

"Um- yeah," he said. His voice was wrong. He ran a hand through his hair- that was wrong, wrong, wrong- way too long and silky and- "Sammy! The fuck did that witch do to me? Where are you?" He blinked, trying to force his head to work right, then turned toward the voice. He squinted, trying to make out the shape in the dim light as his eyes adjusted. He froze. He stared back at himself, marveling at the shocked look on his clone's face before scrambling backward.

"Dean, it's me," he watched himself say, face screwed up into way too earnest of an expression to be his. He tugged himself out of the liquid, trying to think, trying to force himself to process-

"Sam?" he asked incredulously. 

"Dean," Dean's body said, mouth hinging open. 

"The fuck kind of Freaky Friday shit is this?" Dean said in Sam's voice, running a hand through Sam's ridiculous hair again. Dean watched himself climb out of the pool and sit beside him. The liquid around them vanished all at once, leaving only the witch's body at the bottom of the empty concrete. Slowly, that turned to dark-red water before disappearing too. Dean felt nauseus.

"I-I don't know. I think we got caught up in her spell- I'm- dude, I'm _you_."

"Thought you were a lot better lookin' than you usually are," he quipped. His jokes weren't as funny in Sam's voice. A siren sounded in the distance and he forced himself to his feet. "Look, we need to get the hell outa here 'fore the cops show. We'll figure this out at the hotel. C'mon." Dean stood. The ground was further away than usual. Maybe he'd normally like to be taller, but right now, it just freaked him out. He watched himself- Sam- stagger to his feet, gripping his head. Sam swayed, and Dean looped an arm beneath his waist, tugging him from the room. He glanced back at the babies squirming on the ground- cops were coming for them. They'd be fine- one more time before getting Sam into the Impala and driving off.

Dean stared at himself, nursing his whiskey. Sam held an icepack to the back of his head, a beer in his other hand, and Dean wondered if he always looked so obviously hurt when he was injured or if it was just Sam's lack of poker face. He scratched his gigantic head. 

"Well this is top-five weirdest things that've happen to us."

"Yeah," Sam said, wincing as he put the icepack down. "Yeah, remind me not to go after any more witches. And Dean, you hit your head _hard_. It hurts, man."

"Sorry," Dean murmured, finding that he meant it. He finished his drink and poured another. "But at least you're not concussed, right? Just a bad bruise."

"Thank god."

"Alright. So. We call Bobby, we figure this shit out, we un-Bodysnatchers this, and I get out of your butt-ugly meatsuit. Sound good?"

"Bobby," Sam agreed, tugging out his phone. He set it on the table between them.

"What'd you idjits do now?" Bobby asked. Dean felt his body- _Sam_ 's goddamn body- humming with relief at the sound of his voice.

"For once, not our fault. There was this witch, see, and all these babies, and a swimming pool-" Dean started. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Witch switched our bodies. She's dead, so I don't think she'll be reversing it any time soon." Dean scowled.

"I was gettin' there."

"Get there _faster_ , Dean." The phone was silent. 

"Bobby? You still-"

"You telling me you managed to get yourselves body swapped? How the hell'd you do that?" Dean rolled his eyes.

"Well, if Sam would have let _me_ tell the story-"

"Nevermind," Bobby said. Dean threw his hands in the air, shivering at the affectionate grin (not his- not his- _wrong_ ) appearing on his face. "Where you boys at?"

"Salt Lake. Sammy's hurt- We're gonna stay here for the night then head to you. If- ya know, we can sleep without making this permanent." There was a beat of silence.

"Why'd sleeping make it permanent?" Bobby asked. Sam-in-Dean's-body looked at him like he was stupid. 

"I'm just checkin'. Last thing I want is to be stuck as Jolly Green forever." 

"Yeah, and I want to be stuck asking for your help reaching the top shelf," Sam muttered. Dean flipped him off.

"... You can sleep, Sam- I mean Dean, you _idjit_. Then drive fast. I'll research- see if I can find some way to reverse it by the time you jarheads get here."

"Thanks, Bobby. We owe ya one."

"You owe me _several_." The line clicked. Dean looked at himself- at _Sam_ \- in concern. 

"Sure you're okay?" Sam nodded weakly.

"Yeah- just need some sleep. And aspirin."

"'M gonna shower. Yell if you need me."

Dean tugged his clothes off and stepped beneath the hot water, groaning at the feeling. Sam's groan. Weird to hear it in this context, but Dean elected to ignore it. His hand moved down his chest- not his chest, way too built to be his chest- and curled around his- he froze, glancing down. Sam's cock. He was holding Sam's cock, and if that wasn't fifty shades of wrong, he wasn't a Winchester. He let go, suddenly guilty, but couldn't tear his eyes away. Sam's cock was huge. Way bigger than Dean's, and Dean considered little Dean very respectable. Huge and heavy, and Dean could still feel the weight of it in his hand. He wrapped a hand around it again. He was just showering- just cleaning himself- and Jesus, it felt good. He slowly cupped it, moving his hand up and down. Just cleaning- but fuck, it was so big, so hard almost immediately- Dean wondered what it felt like to fuck with Sammy's cock. Or to get- nope, that was verging on insanely inappropriate. But right now, this was his body. Couldn't be _that_ bad to do the things he normally did anyway. Right?

He soaped his hand up and brought it back to Sammy's cock, feeling it twitch beneath his hand. He stroked the shaft, rubbing his huge thumb along the head with each stroke until he was panting, leaning against the shower wall. And fuck, panting that wasn't his- that sounded pretty damn good right now too. And Sam's gigantic hand on his gigantic cock... the feeling was unreal. He groaned just to see what it would sound like, and if he pretended it was a stranger doing it, that was pretty hot. He fisted himself, growing closer and closer (it wasn't going to take long- god, just the novelty of jerking off someone else's cock was hot enough that Dean knew he wasn't going to last-) until he came with a gasp, Sam's cock twitching in his hand as he rode out the waves of pleasure. He glanced down once it finally ended, a little embarrassed. Sam's loads were apparently as ungodly huge as the rest of him. He finished up washing himself, then toweled off. Dean caught sight of his body and shivered at the weirdness again. Sam was still sitting up, his nose buried in a book, and Dean couldn't help grinning. He was pretty sure his face had never looked so studious before, and he knew the perfect way to wipe that look away.

"Little Sammy's not so little, Sammy," he said, smirking at his own wordplay. "You never told me." Dean watched his own face grow horrified, his cheeks turning red.

"Dean, tell me you did _not_ just jack off." Dean shrugged, dropping the towel and wiggling his eyebrows. Sam's face turned bright pink- Dean wondered if he normally looked that- there was no other word for it, pretty- when he blushed- and he pointedly looked away from his own body as Dean shamelessly dressed. Normally, they weren't this brazen or blatant about it, but Dean figured Sam would be cool seeing _himself_ naked.

"C'mon, what'm I supposed to do? Not jack off for three days?"

"Yes!"

"Gotta say, though, Sammy. You could stand to work on your stamina. I mean it only took me-"

"Oh my god," Sam said, throwing a pillow at Dean's head. 

"Like, a minute-"

"Stamina's all on you. You couldn't _handle_ my stamina." Dean shivered, turning his thoughts away from _that_ unexplored lake of inappropriateness. "I'm getting you back for this. You want to start a prank war? We'll start a damn prank war. But you're going to lose. You _always_ lose. Remember that you started this."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said, grinning to himself as he tried to arrange Sam's gigantic body comfortably on his bed. "Bobby'll change us back before you have a chance to do a damn thing." Sam grumbled something under his breath then went suspiciously silent. Dean ignored him. He let his eyes close, body fucked out and comfortable despite not technically being his. His hand tangled in his ridiculously long hair as he drifted off, and the softness was strangely comforting. His last conscious thought was that he smelled like Sam.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean stretched, feeling the freakish long-ness of his arms and legs. Sam dressed, bending over as he shimmied into Dean's jeans. Dean watched himself, nonplussed.

"Man, I've got a great ass," he murmured, sliding from the bed.

"Stop staring at my ass, Dean."

"It's not your ass, Sammy, it's my ass. Your soul just happens to be squatting in it right now. And it's not every day I get to admire it from this angle."

"You're complimenting your brother's ass right now." 

"Then I guess it was fine that I touched my own dick last night," Dean said with a grin. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Pack. Hurry. I wanna get to Bobby's tonight and back in my own skin." Dean sighed, throwing his stuff into his bag. He resisted the chance to grab his own ass (c'mon, how often does a guy get an opportunity to do that?) and followed Sam to the Impala. He forced the seat back, and his knees still nearly clanked into the steering wheel. He readjusted, annoyed.

"How the fuck do you get through life being this huge? It sucks, man!" Dean's body smiled Sam's grin at him and he shivered at the weird sensation the combination caused.

"I guess I'm used to it. Not like it's any easier being a shrimp-"

"Hey. You're the freakishly big one. I'm taller'n average, not a damn shrimp," Dean said, fumbling with the seat again. He gave up, accepting the fact that he'd feel like he was driving a Barbie play car the whole way. "Son of a bitch," he muttered to himself. "And you need to get your damn eyes checked. You're blurry. Just a little, but still. Need to get that shit taken care of. Hone your instincts- ow, fuck!" Sam's hand smacked his face lightly, and Dean's own face gave him Sammy's smug grin. 

"Looks like my instincts are fine." Dean scowled and turned up the music.

They broke down five hours outside Sioux Falls, because of course they did. Dean got under the hood, cursing when he found the problem.

"Well this ain't good. Radiator leak. I knew the fluid I bought in Oklahoma was knock-off bullshit."

"But you can fix it, right?" Sam asked, pacing Dean's body around the car with far too anxious an expression for his body. Dean frowned, his giant hands way too big on the Impala's interior.

"Course I can fix her. But she might need a new radiator. If bumfuck nowhere Nebraska even has the parts we need... we're definitely gonna need a tow. And a day to-"

"Fuck!" Sam yelled, his hands brushing across Dean's short-cropped hair like he was looking for something to hold onto. He stared at his hands aghast when they ended up empty almost instantly. Dean smirked, unable to help himself.

"Well, well, look at you, Sammy. Where'd you learn that big boy word?" Dean's face gave him a bitchface worthy only of Sam. He sighed and slammed the hood shut. Out of some old, deeply ingrained brotherly instinct, he gripped Sam's wrist for a long moment. "C'mon. This ain't the end of the world. We'll go to some- some shitty little diner and have a good night, alright? I'm buyin'. Chin up." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Call the tow truck. I'll call Bobby."

They didn't find a diner. But they found a little bar that served hamburgers, and as far as Dean was concerned, that was just as good.

"Yeah, two Heinekens and a cheeseburger."

"He means a salad," Sam said, giving the waitress a tense smile. Dean grinned wickedly putting his hand on top of Sam's. 

"As cute as it is when you order for me, sweetheart, I think I'll be having that cheeseburger. With bacon, please. And fries. He'll have the salad." The waitress smiled. Sam didn't move his hand, and Dean realized just how much _bigger_ Sam's body's hands were than his. He gulped. Sam could probably choke him out with just one of these fuckers when they weren't all swapped. Good thing they were on the same side.

"Aren't you two cute?" She walked off. Dean grinned into Sam's unamused face.

"Guess you're over caring about the whole people thinking we're a couple thing," Sam said. Dean squeezed Sam's hand ( _his_ goddamn hand) briefly, then moved away again.

"Well when it comes to messing with you, Sam, I don't mind lookin' a little incestuous." Sam sighed, but the corners of his mouth twitched. "Knew you couldn't stay mad at me."

"I will be mad if you eat that burger. You know how hard I work for this?" he asked, gesturing at Dean. Dean ran his hand down his chest, shivering at the defined muscle there. 

"Not like I look that bad," he said huffily. Sam rolled his eyes.

"You _look_ great."

"Damn straight," Dean muttered, feeling a little warm.

"It's about how you feel. I mean, your body's a machine. What you put into it-"

"Your machine can take one damn burger, Sam, c'mon." Sam sighed. 

"Fine. Then I'm getting one too. All the damage I do goes straight to you." 

"Attaboy. You eat that burger."

"But don't think I'm suddenly cool with you using my body as your- your personal carnival. Think again. I'm telling you, revenge is coming for yesterday." 

"Yeah, yeah, masturbation does damage to the 'great machine.'" Dean said, grabbing his Heineken from the waitress and giving her a lingering glance. She looked confused as she took Sam's new order and walked away, and Dean chuckled to himself. "Oh right, she thinks I'm gay."

"And whose fault is that?" They grinned at each other, and Dean sighed in relief, his breath coming out heavier and more forceful than usual. Sam was less freaked out. Sam was relaxing. His goal of the evening was accomplished. "And you are. Like, half gay."

"Yes, Sammy, that's what a bisexual is," Dean said as patronizingly as he could manage. Sam grinned at him, and Dean grinned back. "So, c'mon, why were you so stressed earlier? Wanting to get back to Bobby's so fast? I mean I thought you'd enjoy being in the body of a slightly older, much hotter guy." Sam rolled his eyes, his careful smile still playing around the corners of Dean's mouth.

"Yeah, something like that. I'm s'posed to get a call. From this girl I knew from Stanford. Only now-"

"I could take it," Dean offered. Sam shook his head, stupid private son of a bitch that he was. 

"No, I'll call her back later. Thanks, though." Dean watched his expression. Sam was hiding something. Maybe he was secretly dating this Stanford chick. Dean resolved to look into it later. For now, he just sucked at his beer, digging into his burger happily when it got there. He watched Sam do the same, for once unfettered with his stupid diet plans. 

"Good, right?"

"Tastes better in you," Sam said. He froze, and Dean chuckled, wondering if he'd ever outgrow the twelve year old boy sense of humor. "I mean- cus your eating habits are so bad. It tastes good. In your body."

"Tastes plenty good in the body of a health freak too. It's a fuckin' burger. Hard to do that wrong." And it did taste good. Still, there was an embarrassing voice in the back of Dean's head that wished he had more vegetables. And it was all stupid Sam's fault. "I'm gettin' drunk tonight."

"Dean. We still have a long drive tomorrow, after the shop fixes the car." Dean groaned, still not happy about giving the impala up to a mechanic. They were gonna hurt his baby, he knew it, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop it. Sam talked him into letting somebody else work on her, and he hated feeling so out of control. He signaled the waitress. 

"Yeah, we're gonna need at least six shots of whiskey. Bottom shelf's fine, sweetheart." The woman walked away, glancing at them over her shoulder with simpering eyes. "Think she wants a threesome?"

"I don't care," Sam said, spreading his hands out wide and giving Dean his fakest smile. "She can deal with disappointment. As can I." 

"Oh, sorry. _You_ wanted the threesome?" Sam rolled his eyes so hard Dean worried his eyeballs would stick in his head.

"Fucking hilarious, Dean."

"Damn, what's gotten into you tonight? Breathe, Samantha. Stop with the unnecessary language." Their waitress set the shots out on the table, giving Dean a last lingering glance. Dean passed one to Sam, wriggling an eyebrow. "C'mon. It's my body, anyway. Tomorrow, once we get to Bobby's, you won't even care. Do shots with me."

"I'd rather watch you get embarrassingly drunk," Sam said, pushing the glass back toward Dean. Dean shrugged.

"Fine. You got a crazy moose-like tolerance anyway." Dean slammed three of the shots down, grinning at Sam, who watched him impassively, with something almost- Dean squinted, trying to get Sam's eyes to focus right- almost predatory in his eyes. Dean did another shot, not looking away. Sam wanted weakness. He wouldn't find it. He was plotting some prank, but that was fine. Dean could outsmart him drunk. Dean did the last two shots, his stomach protesting just a little. Sam gave him a grin, that- had it actually been on Sam's face- would have been dimpled and wide. As it was, it was wide, but there was an emotion there Dean couldn't quite decipher.

"You're gonna regret that later," Sam said impassively. Dean ignored him, scanning the room. Booze always made him horny, but better than that, it lowered his normally crazy-high standards. Sober, he needed a girl with huge tits and a tiny waist and a sweet face, or a guy that was at least as tall as him and looked like he fucked hard. Tipsy, he needed a semi-pretty girl, or any top. He wasn't too picky, and the liquor licked at his brain, making him feel warm and open. He found the kind of girl he was looking for, and gave Sam a last lecherous grin. 

"See ya later, buddy," he said, not bothering to wait for Sam's reaction before heading toward his target. He stopped a few feet away, grinning at her and trying to straighten. It was hard not to hunch in Sam's gigantic frame, hard not to try to make himself a normal height. But girls- they dug freakishly tall guys, right? So he loomed over her, giving her his best smile. "Hey. I'm Dean."

"Becca," the girl said, sizing him up with a small smile. "You ain't from 'round here, Dean."

"Nah, I'm headed to Sioux Falls. My car broke down so I'm stuck here for the night. Think you can tell me anything about the town?" Becca blushed, glancing at her feet, then back at him. Dean cheered silently. 

"Well, sure. I mean, this is the place to be. Only place with any life, once nine o'clock hits. But there's a museum, an old fort just outside of town. And if you're looking for it..." her voice grew softer as she talked, and she glanced behind Dean. Dean felt an arm snake around his stomach, and a body press against his side. The alcohol in him crowed with excitement to have someone close to him. He realized it was Sam, frowned, and tried to push the feelings away.

"Making friends already, are we, baby?" Sam asked. Dean scowled at him.

"Yeah, so if you could just-"

"Dean, we gotta go back to the hotel. I'll make it worth your while," Sam mock-whispered in his ear. Dean shivered, slapping at him out of instinct. His neck broke into goodbumps. Thank God Sam was currently too short to see them.

"Sam-"

"Sorry," Sam said, with an award-winning Dean grin for Becca. "My boyfriend and I were just leaving." Sam tugged at Dean's waist with a vice-like grip, and Dean had no choice but to follow him out of the bar, snagging a last shot- vodka this time- before he did. All of the alcohol slammed into him at once, and just before it took him, he wondered if seven or eight drinks in an hour had really been all that wise. Then he no longer cared.

"Goddammit, that was an easy in. Why'd you have to-"

"You're not getting syphillis or whatever the hell-else in my body. Save it for when you're back-"

"Yer jealous," Dean said, trying and failing to keep the slur from his voice. Sam's step faltered. "Cus you wanted to fuck her."

"That's it. C'mon, buddy." Sam helped him back to the hotel, grinning at Dean's scowls. 

"No fun, Sammy. Never let me have any fun."

"Have fun with your own dick. Not with mine."

"Oh, I'm gonna have fun with your dick tonight," Dean threatened once they'd made it back into the hotel room. "Gonna have _so_ much fun with your dick tonight." 

"Whatever you say," Sam said, giving Dean a peaceful grin. 

Dean stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the shower. No reason for Sam to hear all the things he was doing. But his over-sized paw made its way instantly back to Sam's cock, tugging at it gently until it hardened, apparently undaunted by all the liquor. Sam had youth on his side, Dean admitted reluctantly as he stripped off the rest of his clothes and sat in the tub beneath the steamy water. He ran Sam's hand all down his body, marveling at just how damn big it felt on his skin. So big. Bigger than any guy he'd ever been with. He shivered, wondering what one of Sam's fingers would feel like inside him. He dropped his hand down, brushing a finger along Sam's pucker. Tight. Tight and instantly clenching when Dean pushed gently. Sam hadn't done that, or if he had, it had been a damn long while. Dean tugged his hand away, disappointed. His disappointment faded basically as soon as his hand was back on his cock. 

"Fuck," he murmured to himself, sliding his hand up and down like an excited teenager jerking off for the first time. He groaned, leaning back and letting the hot water wash over him. His other hand wandered his body, finding its most sensitive spots by feel. Sam's nipples, the side of his neck, the skin just below his stomach. Dean shivered, and once again, he thought about Sam choking him out with just one hand. He jerked off rhythmically, his free hand wrapping around his throat, and god it was perfect. It would only be better if Dean was back in his smaller body, this hand still just as fucking gigantic- he finished in minutes, not bothering to stifle his moan as he came. He turned off the water and toweled off. He stumbled back into the room naked, giving Sam a victorious grin.

"Ha," he said, pointing in Sam's general direction. His own face rolled his eyes at him. "Showed you."

"Okay," Sam said, expression still irritatingly calm. "I mean, if my little brother's dick was twice mine's size and I suddenly had the bigger one, I'd might start waving it around too." Dean flushed, striding toward the bed. 

"I always call you a tight ass, Sammy," Dean murmured, voice still slurred. "But I didn't know i was being literal." Sam's calm expression finally broke into something more aghast. Dean grinned.

"You keep your fingers out of my ass."

"Make me." Sam sighed, giving Dean a look. Dean backed down immediately. "No fingering my brother's ass. Got it."

"And put clothes on. Never know with hotel sheets."

"Hey. I'm the one who taught you 'bout hotel sheets," Dean said, swaying slightly. Still, he threw on boxers and a shirt and stumbled into the nearest bed. Sam let out a surprised huff, but once Dean realized his mistake, he was too drunkenly tired to care. He grabbed onto the pillow and adjusted his gigantic body into a more comfortable position. Sam sighed beside him.

"Night, jerk."

"Night, bitch," Dean said. He was asleep before he finished the word.


	3. Chapter 3

When Dean woke up, he was warm and comfortable and pressed up against a familiar lump. He sighed, rubbing his face up against the warmth. The second he opened his eyes, he knew he'd have to remember, have to face a hangover and a pissed-off Sam. He'd have to deal with getting Baby back in shape and driving another five hours and Bobby and witches. His cock was hard, pressed up against the back of whoever he was curled up against. It felt good there. His body seemed to fit perfectly against the other. If he just stayed here with his eyes closed, pressed against the warm shape curled up with him under the sheets, smelling like him, and vaguely like Sam- he bolted up, eyes flying open as he realized who he was cuddled up against. He groaned as his body remembered exactly what he'd done last night and started exacting revenge. He rubbed his eyes and stared back at himself- Sam- who stirred sleepily and turned to him.

"Sorry, looks like sleep-me thought you were- what the _hell_ , Sam?" Dean stumbled from the bed, mouth hanging open. He awkwardly moved a hand over his dick to try to hide his boner. "What- what the hell did you do?" Sam rubbed at his eyes, looking momentarily innocent and confused, and so damn sweet- god, that was a weird look for Dean to see on his own face. Then the expression cleared into a satisfied grin.

"Oh- you noticed?"

"What the _fuck_?" Dean asked, tugging at Sam's long hair in consternation. He felt Sam's eyes drop to his crotch, and groaned. Perfect, Sam would see that too. "This is so not an okay prank. This is so beyond not okay- why would you-?" Sam propped himself up lazily, his grin growing wider. And Dean stared in horror at his own now-bald head. 

"You don't like the new look? Personally I think it makes you look distinguished." Dean moved back toward the bed and grabbed Sam's shoulder, tugging him close enough that Dean could rub at his nearly naked skull. So weirdly prickly and warm and awful. Dean shoved him away again. Sam laughed. Dean flipped him off, groaning.

"I look like a cancer patient a week away from death."

"I thought about doing the eyebrows too, but I figured I didn't want you to literally murder me."

"God dammit- when'd you even have time to do this? I was with you the whole night?" Sam's Cheshire grin stretched across Dean's face, and Dean resisted the urge to hit him.

"Nah, you passed out at nine. Ran to the convenience store- get this, three-pack of razors here for four bucks. Took an hour or so to make sure I got it all, but I think the investment was worth it. I mean the end result is just-"

"You want to go down that road?" Dean asked, shoving at Sam again, who laughed and hopped off the bed, grabbing clean clothes from Dean's pack. "Do you? Cus you care about your hair a hell of a lot more than I care about mine. And yours won't just grow back in a few weeks, fucking princess-length you keep it at. I could hack it off- I could bleach it-"

"You wouldn't do that," Sam said confidently, and Dean caught an eyefull of his own body as Sam stripped, giving him a cocky grin that wouldn't look out of place on Dean's face if Dean currently had fucking hair. 

"What makes you so sure?"

"Cus you like my hair. You think it's cute. Makes you feel brotherly and protective. So you're not gonna mess with it."

"Don't be so sure," Dean said, turning and mouthing curses where Sam couldn't see. Stupid bastard was right. Sammy looked older without his long hair, colder too. Further away from Dean, like he had right before he'd left for Stanford. It wasn't a look Dean loved. He tugged at the strands falling into his eyes and pushed them aside, irritated at himself. "Nobody could _like_ your hair, Sleeping Beauty. It's a hot mess and you know it. But anyway, you already did that one. Hair thing? That's worn out."

"Uh huh," Sam said, unbothered. 

"I mean it. Your ass isn't safe- and I mean that literally and figuratively. I've held back so far out of respect, but this- this crosses all _lines_ of respect. From now on, expect no mercy. Anything goes." Sam tugged on Dean's jacket, still grinning.

"Cool. You can do whatever you want for the next five hours. In the Impala. You can, I don't know, hit on a gas station attendant or something. Cover my clothes in Cheeto dust." Dean shook his head and stripped. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam swallow hard. Dean watched, letting even his boxers fall to the ground. He was still half hard. And some twisted part of him wanted Sam to see that. He didn't let himself think too much about that one.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" he asked. Sam stared back, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I've seen it before." Still, Sam's eyes darted downward. Dean grinned.

"You're getting all turned on lookin' at yourself, aren't you? Narcissist." He stretched, moving his hands up for the full effect. Sam in Dean's body shook his head.

"Just cool to see the view my partners get. Height difference is about right too-"

"Alright," Dean said, scowling. "Better watch it. Now I could kick your ass- _soundly_ , for once. Got the sharper mind and the bigger-" He reached out and caught the socks Sam threw at his face. "See? Better reflexes too."

"Your hung-over ass couldn't beat a ten year old right now. Get dressed and ready. I'm gonna check on the Impala."

"Suck my dick, Sam." Sam frowned thoughtfully.

"Think I'd be sucking _my_ dick. And thanks for the offer, but I better get going." 

Dean threw the socks at him, but they hit the hotel door as it closed instead. Dean cursed again, trying and failing to come up with ways to get Sam back. His pranks tended to be opportunistic. Great, of course, just as good if not better than Sam's, but in the moment. Sam- Sam thought his out. Sam waited, he was patient, and each one was a carefully laid trap. Each something that would get under Dean's skin, something that would push at the line of okay without fully crossing it. The fucking hair, for instance. Dean needed something good, something really good, to get Sam back. He grabbed Sam's bag. Maybe there was something in there that would give him inspiration. 

Sam's bag was boring, though. Dean already knew it would be. Between them, just by the nature of how they lived, there was very little privacy. Sam probably knew about the sex stuff Dean carefully stored at the bottom of his bag, the newest Busty Asian Beauties mag, the few sentimental things that reminded him of their dad, the necklace Sam had given him that always hung around his neck (his hands kept looking for it on Sam's neck and coming up empty). And Dean knew about the box that held a picture of Jessica, a book Dean had bought him years ago and a few old papers from Stanford, among other things. Messing with those would be taking it too far. Pretending to mess with those? Maybe there was something there. He shifted through flannel after flannel. Then Sam's phone rang, loud and clear from the bedside table. 

Dean looked at the name and frowned. 

"Hello?" he answered, trying to get Sam's inflection right. 

"Hey, Sam," the voice on the other end said. A woman, younger woman. He grinned to himself. Maybe this was his chance.

"What's going on?" he asked, trying to throw a little of Sam's trademark concern into his voice. 

"Well... You said you'd call yesterday. I wanted to know how it's going. Ya know, big road trip with your friend."

"My- my friend," Dean agreed, confused. "Yeah. Uh- it's been good. I mean. Different from school all the time. Lotta hotel rooms."

"Yeah, you say that every time I talk to you."

"Well, how are you-" he pulled the phone back to check the screen. "Lillian?"

"Since when do you call me 'Lillian?'" she laughed. "Life's fine. Boring. It's the same. Ya know, just doing the work thing and the family thing. Unlike you. C'mon, it's got to be crazy, right? I mean driving around with him all day. Going to all those places, spending so much time together."

"Yeah," Dean said, trying to formulate a plan. He could use this for a prank. He knew he could. If only he knew more about the girl. "Yeah, it's a crazy life."

"I mean, do you think he has any idea?" Dean frowned. 

"Any idea about what?" Dean asked. It wouldn't give him away. He sounded like Sam. To anyone who didn't know about the supernatural, he basically was Sam. Still, the girl on the other end sighed.

"You're being so weird. You know what. Wait. Is he with you right now? Just say yes if he is." Dean tried to think of all the times he'd take his way into investigations, all of the times he'd ferreted out confessions or secrets from people. He could do this. Just needed to play along until she gave something away. 

"Yes."

"Oh god. That has to be so hard, Sam. I mean I know you've said you can never tell him. But I don't get it. What if you're wrong? Maybe he'd understand." 

"Something like this? No," Dean said, desperate to ask what 'this' was. 

"The world's not as homophobic and dark as you think it is. And I know you said his family is awful-"

"Not that bad," he muttered. 

"-But he's been your best friend for- for basically your entire life, hasn't he?"

"You have no idea how true that is."

"So, what's the worst that could happen? I mean honestly? Just tell him." Dean cursed himself for saying he was in the room earlier. He could work this so much better if he could actually talk directly. As it was...

"Yeah, thanks, I'll think about it."

"Good. You deserve to be happy. Alright? And keeping a secret like this from the guy you're- you're adventuring with for- how long are you doing that anyway?"

"Foreseeable future."

"Right. Keeping something like that from him has to just be eating you up inside."

"Yeah, must be," Dean said awkwardly. "I'll think about it. It's just. You know." Would that be enough for her to give anything up? He was way off-balance here. He was messing this up, getting nothing out of her. Dammit.

"Of course I know. Hey, you know I love you, right?" Dean rolled his eyes. 

"Yeah," he muttered after an awkward second of silence. She laughed.

"Oh right, he's there. Sorry. Look, we'll talk soon, okay? And- and really, I think you should tell him. He deserves to know. Take care of yourself, Sam."

"Yeah, you too."

He hung up and stared at the phone in his hand, hating the unseen, unknown girl who apparently knew Sam better than he did. He resisted the impulse to chuck the phone at a wall. They went through enough phones as it was, and they weren't cheap. Who the fuck was Lillian, and why did Sam trust her more than Dean? Especially if it was over his sexuality. Although it wasn't like they really talked about that kind of thing, not seriously. Their dad hadn't exactly been a homophobe, at least not the asshole kind who would ever say anything to a guy's face, but Dean knew he saw the gay people they'd encountered on the road as weaker, less capable when it came to hunting. Not that Dean wanted a touchy-feely coming out moment. Not that he'd needed to tell his dad before John died. It wasn't important that he hadn't. Dean slept with guys sometimes, and he hunted monsters just as damn well if not better than any other hunter he'd ever met. The second part was the part John had needed to know. The first- well, that was his business.

The only reason Sam knew about Dean was because he'd gotten back to a hotel room early and gotten an eyeful of Dean getting pounded by some Navy guy hard and deep. And him being Sam, he'd insisted on talking about it later, on being a supportive little shit, and on lecturing Dean about not fucking on Sam's bed. That had been it, mostly. Dean joked about it sometimes, they mostly ignored it, it hadn't changed anything. So why the hell did Sam, a guy who couldn't have a feeling without wanting to talk about it in detail, not feel like he could tell Dean he was- what, maybe gay? Queer, anyway, from what the girl said. And why'd Stanford Lillian, stupid nosy bitch, think Dean was just his 'friend?' Too embarrassing to admit he was on a road trip with his brother maybe? For maybe the first time in his life, Dean regretting being nosy for the sake of a stupid prank. He wished he hadn't heard any of it. Now he wasn't going to be able to think about anything else for five goddamn hours, and that was just great. 

The door opened with a deafening click. Sam's eyes flickered over Dean, who was still undressed and Sam's rifled through suitcase. Sam's eyes met his, and his lips curled up at the edges.

"Really, Dean? Think you're going to find a prank as good as mine in _there_?" Dean shrugged, pulling a flannel from Sam's bag and tugging it on. 

"Startin' to think not. Let's get out of here."


	4. Chapter 4

Dean decided to try to forget about what he'd heard. Sam didn't want him to hear it, fucking fine. He'd just pretend he hadn't heard it. He tried to drive for about five miles with his knees knocking up against the steering wheel, then cursed and glanced over at his brother.

"Sam, you drive. I'm too fuckin' huge for Baby. She can't handle me. I'm gonna break her. And I've got no leg room." Sam grinned.

"Really?" Dean grunted.

He managed to untangle his limbs enough to get out of the car. On an impulse, he opened the trunk and dug beneath the weapons to Sam's 'secret' hiding spot. He had to get at least one prank in, even if it was a lame one. He scooted back into the passenger seat, groaning as he tried to find a way to sit comfortably. He felt like a folded up sleeping bag, way too big for its carrier. He finally settled on a position that wasn't too bad, letting the car fall into silence as Sam got them back on the road. He tried not to brood. So what if Sam trusted someone more than him? Sam probably needed someone to talk to, someone who wasn't useless when it came to feelings. He needed someone better than Dean. That was fine. He wasn't mad. He stared out the window, tapping his fingers against the cool glass. Every so often, he felt Sam look over at him.

"You're really mad about the hair, huh?" Sam asked. "I'm sorry, I guess I thought it'd only be bad for a week or so-"

"It's fine," Dean said. Sam nodded and they lapsed back into uncomfortable silence.

"I mean honestly, Dean, I didn't think you'd be this mad."

"I'm not mad." Another few moments of silence. Dean felt his anger like a heavy physical presence in his chest. He scowled, trying to push it down.

"I really am sorry about the-"

"It's not about the goddamn hair, Sam."

"Then what-"

"Just drop it," he snapped. Sam went silent, and a muscle in his jaw twitched. Dean sighed. Sam's hurt look wasn't quite as bad on Dean's face. But it was still pretty bad. The grip around his chest loosened a little. He slipped the CD he'd stolen from beneath his gigantic leg and slid it into the player.

 _Every night in my dreams..._ Sam whipped his head around and stared at Dean with his mouth hanging open . His surprised expression on Dean's own face was so goddamn stupid that Dean couldn't help but crack a smile. _I see you I feel you..._

"Um. Dean. What is this crap?" Sam asked, swallowing hard. Dean's smile grew and he felt the tight hot anger relax even more.

" _Crap_ , huh, Sammy? That's pretty narrow-minded. Céline's a legend. I mean, have you heard her range? Plus- total smoke show." Sam swallowed hard, glancing at Dean, then back at the road.

"You don't really think that."

"Course I do. Are you kidding? Man, I watched _Titanic_ just for this song at the end." Sam frowned.

"You- what, really?"

"Really. God, she's one of my favorites. Why don't we talk about her more often?" Sam still looked suspicious. Dean gave his best attempt at a genuine smile. "I mean the _Let's Talk About Love_ tour? Her performance in Paris? Still gives me chills." Sam's face relaxed, just a little. Dean had him. "You gotta admit, she's pretty great."

"Yeah, I mean, I think she's got a once in a generation voice. She's pretty incredible. And a performer too- God, when she's on that stage you can just see everything in her eyes. Honestly, I kind of love Céline Dion." Dean nodded seriously, his lips twitching. He broke, bursting into laughter. God it felt good to laugh like this after carrying around so much tension all day. He laughed and laughed until tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he was leaning forward, bent over himself. Sam sighed beside him.

"I fucking _knew_ I could get you to admit it," he choked out once he could breathe again. Sam shot him a bitch face, but there wasn't any heat behind it.

"Wow. That was nothing compared to mine. Jerk."

"Whatever. You've been hiding that monstrosity of a secret for _years_. Or you thought you were hiding it. You've got no secrets from me, bitch." There was a barb in the last few words. If that didn't make Sam feel guilty- well- at least it was worth a shot. Sam gave him a slow grin and a shake of his head.

"You're so in for it. You have no idea what I have planned."

"Bring it." Dean stretched and yawned. Both of his legs were somehow falling asleep. He glanced over at Sam, shrugged, and swung his legs up until they rested in Sam's lap. Sam raised an eyebrow. "What? I don't know how to manage these daddy-long-leg-y fuckers. And there's nowhere else to put em."

"So you're putting your gross-ass feet on my legs? Really, Dean?"

"Yup," he said, snapping the 'p' in a nice, if he said so himself, mimic of Sam's voice. He leaned up against the window and shut his eyes, finally comfortable. Sam's legs were warm and familiar, and the AC was blasting. And Sam didn't try to shove him off, which was an added bonus. He tried to ignore the soft crooning of his brother's favorite singer as he drifted off.

They got to Bobby's in the late afternoon, and Dean had had plenty of time to sleep off his hangover and hydrate. Sam shot him glancing smirks every so often, and Dean wondered if he should be worried. Little bastard definitely had something planned. But what could he even _do_ at Bobby's? Dean knocked, and Bobby appeared. Seeing Bobby, even now as a grown-ass man, always gave Dean a sense of sharp relief. Bobby had been his stability as a kid. Staying with Bobby meant three square meals. It meant no pick-pocketing or hustling or risking getting caught doing either and getting sent to a home. And now- well, Bobby had all the answers. He always had, and he still did. He could fix this. Bobby cracked a grin as he looked them over.

"What the hell happened to your hair?" he asked, looking at Sam. "Sam, are you _twelve_?" he asked, squinting at Dean's face. Sam cackled, his laugh lower, closer to Dean's laugh. Weird and wrong in all sorts of ways. Dean groaned to hide his discomfort

"What'd he do?" Dean asked warily.

"Well you got a few more items of male anatomy on ya than usual," Bobby said gruffly, shaking his head. Dean smirked.

"You drew dicks on my face, Sammy? Really? Are you _twelve_?"

"You passed out on me. Couldn't help it." Bobby clapped Dean on the back, then pushed him into the house.

"You idjits are gonna be the death of me."

Dean grinned, looking around the house. It felt more like home than anywhere he'd been in months, and he felt his guard slip. It stiffened right up when he saw the unfamiliar woman sitting at the kitchen table, stone-faced and silent. At her feet lay a black and white-spotted goat, giving them the same look the woman was giving them.

"Sam, Dean, meet Shelly, the witch who's gonna set this right. Shelly, these are the two idjits I told ya about. Usually they're less visibly stupid, but I guess you caught 'em on a particularly immature day." The woman gave them a hostile look, and Dean grabbed Sam's arm, to hold him back in case he tried anything stupid, like moving an inch closer to a witch.

"Uh, Bobby? Can we talk to you?" he asked, offering what he hoped was a charming smile for the woman at the table. The dicks on his face probably dampened the effect, because she stayed perfectly still, eyes brimming with disdain. Bobby sighed and herded them into the hall. "So what's with Sabrina? A freakin' witch? Are you crazy? That's what got us into this crap in the first place."

"Well, I'm sorry if it offends your upstanding moral sensibilities, but only someone with real power is gonna get you boys out of this. That spell you interrupted? Powerful shit."

"Some kind of transference, right? She wanted to take the babies' life force and make it hers." Sam said. Dean made a mental note to call him a nerd later, although it was mildly impressive to hear that kind of stuff coming out of his own mouth. Bobby looked at him for a long silent moment and shook his head.

"I ain't gonna be able to take you seriously until your hair grows back, Dean. Balls- Sam- whoever the hell you are. But yeah, that's about it. Essentially. Spell called for midnight oil-" Dean opened his mouth, but Sam shot him a bitchface so severe he closed it immediately. "-And a little blood, among other crap. You killed her, so the spell got about a million times more powerful, swapped your essences instead." Bobby paused, looking at Sam nonplussed. "Jesus, it's weird to see that expression on your- on _Dean's_ face. Anyway. To switch back, you gotta use a life-force too. Thank the deity of your choice not a human one, since your souls are more volatile in different bodies. But you need someone who knows what they're doing, or this thing could get a hell of a lot worse."

"Worse? How could it be worse than being stuck as a beefed-up giraffe for the rest of my life?" 

"Try your soul getting lost in the ether," Bobby said. "And I don't mean dead lost- heaven or hell if you believe in heaven, ghosts, that sort of shit. No. Stuck formless, basically thoughtless, floating through the world. Can't talk, can't really think, just vague, unpleasant lost-ness. Forever."

"That doesn't sound great," Sam chimed in. Dean huffed in agreement.

"And not only that, the switch? Not stable. Human souls ain't meant to switch places. We don't get you two back where you belong, your bodies'll start to break down in a few weeks. Don't see a whole lot of choice here."

"But a witch- Bobby- these bitches leverage their _souls_ for magic. Make deals with demons, right? These ain't Merlin or Gandalf types, these guys ain't Glinda the Good. They're dangerous. And evil. And working with one-"

"You got any other options, feel free to lay em on the table, sunshine. Otherwise, you're stuck." Dean looked at Sam.

"What'd she want?" Sam asked abruptly. "I mean- she's not doing this out of the kindness of her heart."

"No, she ain't," Bobby said, tugging a flask out from nowhere and taking a long drink. "Saved her life a few years back, fighting a tanuki. She made a deal for a favor. I'm callin' it in." Dean met Sam's eyes, frowning.

"I don't like it."

"Neither do I."

"Then you boys better start drafting your wills." Dean chewed on his bottom lip. If it was just him, maybe that'd be an option, not a good one, but an option. But Sammy- no way in fucking _hell_ was he gonna let Sammy die over this. Better to deal with skeevy witches and deal with the consequences of that later. He set his jaw.

"Fine. We'll do it."

"Dean-"

"We don't have a choice, Sam."

"We can find another-"

"Son, I'm tellin' you. This is it." Sam groaned in frustration, but he met Dean's eyes again and shrugged.

"Alright. We do it. Now?"

"Unless you'd like to wait until you start decomposing," Bobby said. 

"No- now's good. Just- Give me five minutes. I'm gonna run to the bathroom," Sam said. Dean shrugged. 

"Fine. Take one last look at my face, man. It's the last time you'll be this pretty." Sam stuck out his tongue, guy really was twelve, and strode off. Bobby looked Dean over, shaking his head fondly.

"Can't believe you got yourselves into this. You're the most danger-prone idjits I've ever met."

"Ya know, you're a lot less intimidating when you're this short," Dean said, elbowing him. Bobby's grin grew wider.

"You boys okay? Aside from the obvious."

"We're hangin' in there. You?"

"Prime of my life, Dean," Bobby deadpanned. "Now come meet the witch, and for Christ's sake, be nice? Last thing we need is for you to tick her off and end up as a rabbit or something." Dean felt his eyes widen.

"She can do that?"

"Let's not find out."

They set up an inflatable kiddy pool, complete with crabs and beach umbrellas around the edges, and filled it with the strange, smoke-like liquid they'd tumbled into when they fought the first witch. This new witch, Shelly, didn't seem much for talking. She seemed more for scowling and generally being a bitch. Still, Dean smiled at her as he stepped into the black liquid.

"Hey, uh. Thanks for doin' this. Can you imagine gettin' stuck as a skyscraper forever?" Shelly stared at him until he looked away, unnerved. She stroked the back of the goat she had beside her. Dean tried not to think too hard about its fate. Better a goat than Sammy, that was all he needed to know.

"They both need to be in it. Embracing."

"Well if the Princess wouldn't spend all day in the bathroom, we'd be on our way. Maybe he's drawing cocks all over _your_ face now, Dean."

"Nah, he's got something else planned. I could hear his brain whirring earlier." Sam reemerged, his gait a little slower and wider than Dean's normal was. Sam still didn't know how to handle shorter legs. "Ready, Sammy?" Sam stepped in beside him. 

"Ready." 

"Shelly says we gotta hug," Dean said, taking a dramatically brave breath. Sam rolled his eyes and opened Dean's arms. Dean waited a moment longer to protect his reputation, then stepped into his own arms. He wrapped Sam's gigantic body around his own smaller one, and again, he was struck by just how well their bodies fit against each other, like two puzzle pieces. Sam was warm against him, his head resting on Dean's chest. Dean swallowed hard and shut his brain off.

"Uh, Shelly. Whenever you're ready would be great."

"Shut it, Dean," Bobby snapped. Dean closed his eyes, clinging to Sam. He wasn't nervous. This was all going to be just fine. He tried to think of other things. Tried to focus on feel of the water or the thought that soon he'd be able to go get laid again. But the most comforting thing was that he smelled like Sam, and the press of another body against his. He let himself have that, just for a minute or two. Sam's grip tightened around him, like Sam could tell what he was thinking. He closed his eyes and held on tight.

" _Et nunc absolvo vos formae propriis tua. Duo rursus in unum ad duo. Spiritus autem cor ad sacrificium. Fiat_ ," the witch chanted. 

Sharp metal clashed against bone. The goat cried out once, then was silent. Something splashed into the water. Chills ran up and down Dean's arms and legs, his whole body, and he felt like everything was frozen, except where he clung to Sam. Then the world stilled, and the chills faded. Dean breathed in the familiar smell of Sam: gunpowder, old books, and something warmer, like leather. It felt good to be held, too. Not damn many people who even could envelop him like this, even if he'd let them. Kind of a weird feeling, but nice too. He grinned into Sam's chest, taking one more moment to breathe before opening his eyes. He looked up to see Sam's face, complete with three crude penis drawings and a fake mustache. 

"Dude, I've never been happier to see you from this angle in my life," he said. The liquid dissipated around them, leaving Dean's pants dry once more. Sam smiled down at him. 

"Yeah."

"Can we, uh, let go?" Dean asked, craning his neck to try to see Shelly the Witch. 

"Break it up, dumbasses," Bobby said. Dean let go of Sam and examined his limbs. They were all still there. That was good. He was more or less the same height. Cool. 

"You boys back to normal?"

"Er-" Sam lifted his arms, his grin widening to the brilliant smile he saved for special occasions. Dean couldn't help but smile harder at seeing it. "Yeah, Bobby, you saved our asses again."

"Damn straight." Dean glanced nervously at the witch. "And Shelly too. Couldn't have done it without you." 

It took him a moment to notice the sensation in his ass, one he was all-too familiar with. He looked at Sam in horror. Sam's smile didn't change but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. Of course. Sam knew about the sex stuff at the bottom of Dean's bag. He'd found the butt plug. And, probably just five minutes ago, decided to make good use of it. 

"Dean? You good?" Bobby asked. Dean gulped, shifting. Sam had used lube too, the bastard. It didn't hurt. Just light pressure, and when he moved just the right way, spikes of sharp pleasure.

"Yeah, I'm just peachy." Bobby walked Bellatrix Lestrange to the door, talking to her in a soft voice. Dean looked up at Sam.

"Oh, you sneaky bastard."

"Good one, right?"

"No. I'm just gonna go to the bathroom and take it out." Sam shrugged at him.

"Okay. Make Bobby wonder why the second you get your body back you're running off to the bathroom. After I- your body- was just in there. Too desperate to sit through dinner before you gotta go jerk off?" Dean scowled.

"Fine. Doesn't bug me. I can handle this all night. And by the way, genius, you dicked your own face. So how do you like that?"

"Magic marker. It'll take two seconds to get off."

"So- what, same time it takes _you_ to get off?" Dean chuckled at his own joke. Sam gave him a dark smile that sent an unexplained shiver down Dean's back.

"Sure, Dean."

They ordered Chinese and sat on Bobby's ratty sofa, talking and watching some shitty horror movie on Bobby's ancient TV. Dean found himself smiling so much his mouth hurt. It felt good to be here, with nothing to do for a night, no cases to find, no hunt to plan. And if Sam's stupid prank had him feeling _too_ good at times, that was Sam's damn fault. He was doing just fine until the plug started to vibrate. 

Sam, the stupid brilliant bastard, did it at a jump scare in the movie, so when Dean about jumped out of his skin, Bobby just laughed at him. Dean gritted his teeth, soft waves of pleasure crashing over him. The plug barely brushed his prostate when he moved a certain way. Just enough to tease. Not enough to really do anything. He was rock hard in minutes, though, desperately trying to hide the evidence by crossing his legs, tucking his boner into his boxers, praying. Sam let it vibrate for a few minutes, then turned it off. About five minutes later, he turned it on again. Dean tried to pretend nothing was happening, but he felt a slow flush creep into his cheeks, and every minute the vibrations felt better and better. Sam turned it off again. And so it went. Until it finally stopped for a good half hour. Dean tried not to let his guard down, but when he glanced at Sam, Sam's jaw was set in a hard line and his eyebrows were drawn together. He had his phone in his hand. At the end of the movie, Bobby stretched and stood.

"Alright. Guest room's made up. There's a sleeping bag in there. Couch is also an option, but you know how it is. Probably get better sleep on the floor. Don't drink all my whiskey." 

The second Bobby was out of the room, Sam was on his feet. 

"So you talked to Lillian?" Sam asked, looming over Dean. "Have fun? Tell her everything about my private life?" Dean scowled, getting to his feet. All of his earlier anger rushed back and hit him like a tidal wave, and he moved closer, getting into Sam's face. 

"No, but she told me a whole hellova lot," Dean lied. "All the shit you don't tell me. Think I won't accept you for. Wouldn't shut up. Think you need better-" And then Dean was getting shoved up against a wall, Sam's hand clutching the collar of his shirt, his furious face inches from Dean's. His other hand pressed into the wall an inch from Dean's head. Dean felt his lips part in surprise, anger replaced with... with something else he was absolutely not going to think about. 

"You don't know anything," Sam hissed. "And you had no right. No right, Dean. That was private- she was private and you knew it." Dean gulped. He could get away if he wanted, easily, but all he could see was Sam's gigantic hand millimeters away from his bare skin, all he could think about was how he'd used one of Sam's gigantic hands on his neck, the other on his cock, all he could smell was Sam. And the goddamn buttplug was still there, still hitting at an almost perfect angle, and Dean had never been more turned on in his life. 

"Yeah- yeah, you're right, Sam," Dean said, his voice strained. He licked his bottom lip. He couldn't have this conversation right now. He just couldn't, not while he was hard and aching for it and- "I shouldn't have pretended to be you." 

Sam's eyes widened fractionally, and for just a second, his gaze dropped to Dean's lips. His scowl lightened, but he didn't move. His body was so damn close to Dean's that Dean felt his heat, and fuck if he wasn't having about a hundred unbrotherly thoughts right now. It wasn't Sam. Didn't mean anything. Just the stupid fucking buttplug and being pressed against a wall. 

"Good," Sam said. He still didn't move. God help him, Dean didn't want him to. But he forced himself to gently push Sam back. 

"I'm sorry," he said. 

"You never apologize," Sam said, frowning. 

"Yeah, well. Go to bed," Dean managed before making a beeline for the bathroom. He fumbled with his zipper, not bothering to take his pants all the way off. He was so fucking desperate to get off. He palmed himself, and tugged his cock through his boxers, unable to keep a low moan in his mouth. It took a grand total of five strokes before he was coming hard, his body clenching around the plug, his whole body buzzing with just how fucking awesome it felt. He gasped, sinking to the bathroom floor as he tried to regain his breath. That was... Definitely just an aftereffect of the body swap shit. That was all. 


	5. Chapter 5

Dean emerged from the bathroom, guiltily glancing around the hall. He half-expected Sam, Bobby, and the entire Mormon Tabernacle Choir to be standing outside the door judging him. Nobody was. He sighed in relief and made his way upstairs. The cleaned buttplug sat like a lead weight in his pocket. Sam glanced at him from the desk.

"You can't just run away when you don't want to talk about something, Dean," he said mildly.

"Don't be a girl." He glanced at the sleeping bag. "You take the bed."

"I'm good on the floor."

"I just got out of your long-ass. I remember what it feels like. No fuckin' way you'll fit in a normal person sleeping bag. Take the bed." Sam gave Dean his stubborn resigned face, and Dean had to laugh. "Remember when you were little? You always wanted to take the floor to prove you were a badass-"

"But I ended up crawling in with you every night," Sam said, face cracking into a reluctant grin.

"Yeah, and you gave me that exact face when you said you wouldn't sleep in the bed. Every time. I think we're a little too big to fit on it together now, don't you? So take it. I had it last time. I promise not to get lonely and jump you in the middle of the night."

"You didn't have the bed last time. You've given it to me like the last five times."

"I don't remember that," Dean said, unrolling the sleeping bag and throwing his bag on top of it. Sam shook his head, dimples still showing.

"Maybe if you drank a little less..."

"Let's not get crazy here. Your turn this time, mine next time. Now get ready for bed. I'm tired." Sam grabbed Dean's bag and threw it on the bed. Dean groaned. "Sammy-" Sam's eyes grew wide and watery. Stupid human puppy dog. "That's fucking cheating."

"You're an old man. I'm still young and spry."

"Hey, fuck you, asshat, I'm twenty-seven," Dean said, chucking a pillow at his face. Sam ducked, grinning.

"And your ass has got to be sore," Sam said, smirking at the wall. Dean flipped him off and took a few steps toward him. Sam backed away, but Dean hit his arm hard anyway, moving backward before Sam could retaliate.

"That was fucked, dude. Good prank. But god- where'd you even find the remote? I lost it like a month ago."

"Found it on the floor, didn't know what it did. Then I pushed the buttons and followed the noise. I thought I'd like hide it in your pocket or something and hit the vibrate setting. Maybe freak you out a little. But then, all the _Freaky Friday_ stuff happened, and-"

"So you decided to shove a butt plug up my ass instead-"

"Technically, at the time it was my ass," Sam said, his eyes shining. "At least according to your stupid rules." Dean waved a menacing finger in his direction. He knew he shouldn't say the next words, but they were right there, right on the tip of his tongue and he couldn't hold them back.

"So how'd you like the feel of something in your ass?" Sam looked shocked for half a second, then that weird dark look of his, the one Dean had noticed a few times in the last few days and tried not to think about too much, flashed across his eyes, his lips pressing into an almost-smile.

"When I'm more- myself? I don't like it. Never have. Feels weird and wrong- I mean I tried a few times with Jess- but you- God, Dean, if it felt like it does to you for me- I think I'd be almost as much of a slut as you are." His tone was almost joking- almost- but his eyes still wore that same strange intense expression Dean couldn't quite interpret. He swallowed hard, unable to look away.

"Ya know, I prefer to think of myself not as a slut but as a- a Supertramp. Ya know. Like _Goodbye, Stranger_ vibes." It felt like his mouth was just spitting out words just to say them, just to have something to distract him from the way Sam was looking at him, to distract from the thing he'd just done downstairs.

"Gotta say, it's a lot easier to get your body off with something inside you," Sam said, cradling his pajamas and toothbrush. He was out of the room, the door closing behind him before Dean could fully register his words.

"You got my body off?" he asked no one.

The whole time Dean was loudly proclaiming what he was doing inside Sam's skin- was it possible Sam was doing the same damn thing, just more sneakily? He tried to stop thinking. There was nothing useful down that road. If Sam had- it didn't matter. They were back in their normal bodies now. So what if Sam had jerked off in Dean's body, that was fine. Completely fine. Dean just wasn't gonna think about it, wasn't gonna think about what Sam did to get him off- about Sam's gigantic hands on his- Fuck. He slipped beneath the covers, somehow, despite everything, hard again. God. Dammit. It was definitely a side-effect of the switch, nothing else. He just wasn't used to being back in his own skin, wasn't able to deal with the idea of someone else getting off in his skin- that was it. Nothing to do with Sam. He needed to hide his weird-ass thoughts deep deep beneath any possible surface where Sam could find out about them. He settled for closing his eyes and rolling to face the window. He took deep even breaths, pretending to sleep.

Something hit his head and he groaned, glaring as he fumbled for the source. The remote. Sam gave him his normal innocent grin, complete with dimples.

"Thought you should have some control over your life." Dean rolled his eyes.

"Night, Sammy."

"Night, Dean."

They stayed with Bobby for another full day. Dean made some repairs to Baby and drove her around for a while to make sure everything was working. It felt good, unbelievably good, to be driving her in his own skin once more. Just to _be_ in his own skin again felt awesome. And not having to see himself every second- well, Sam as him, anyway- was also a nice change. Getting a break from Sam was good too. Less confusing and he felt less guilty. Not that he should feel guilty. But the whole body-swap shit was still messing with his brain, and more time away meant more time for his head to get screwed on straight. Or as straight as he could ever be. What happened the night before hadn't had anything to do with Sammy. Not really. He got pinned up against a wall with a buttplug inside him by a huge guy, after having it in for hours. After jacking off in said-giant's body only twenty-four hours before. His wires had just gotten temporarily crossed. That was it. Nothing more than that. Still. A little space was good.

When he got back, Bobby sat at the table arranging two pizza boxes. Dean smiled.

"You up for Braveheart? Or X-files?" Bobby grinned back.

"You're more predictable than Kansas weather, boy. _Braveheart_. Every other time, with you."

"It's a classic."

"You'll have to fight Sam for it. He was sayin' something about- Hell if I remember. You two work it out. And I found something for you. Cattle mutilations and a dead girl outside Topeka." Dean groaned.

"Dammit, Kansas again. Find me something in Florida and we'll talk."

"I'll getcha a five-star hotel and some caviar while I'm at it." Dean stared around the empty room, frowning.

"Where's Sammy?"

"Upstairs. Still tryin' to wipe off those dicks he drew on his own idjit face."

"Good to know _one_ of his pranks backfired," Dean muttered.

"Why? 'Side from the hair, what else did he do this time?" Dean pressed his lips into a thin line.

"Oh- uh. I'm mostly pissed about the hair." Bobby shook his head.

"You boys and your stupid prank wars. Better not lose a limb. I won't cart your ass around if you end up in a wheelchair."

"Hey, if I end up in a wheelchair, it'll be a tricked-out badass electric kind, and I'll be carting _your_ ass around."

"Go tell him to get his ass down here, would you? The pizza's getting cold." 

Dean made his way upstairs, not bothering to knock before bursting into the room. 

"We're watching Braveheart. Get your ass- dude, are you putting itching powder in my boxers?" Sam looked around guiltily, shoving the powder beneath his shirt. 

"No?"

"Lame, man. Super lame. We've done that like three times before." Sam gave him a guilty grin. 

"What can I say? It's got the whole history aspect. Plus it pisses you off every time." Dean clicked his tongue and shook his head.

"Ya know, after the last one, I was expecting something else good, Sammy. Is it cus you know you're never gonna be able to top it? You're just giving up?" Sam raised an eyebrow at him, eyes full of challenge.

"You're falling behind. Way behind. All of mine have been better than yours. And I've had more. So really, Dean. Maybe you should think about giving up." Sam stood, looming over Dean the way he always did and leaning close. Dean rolled his eyes, staring him down. "Surrender now and I'll take it easy on you. Keep losing, and I'll make you suffer," he said dramatically. 

Dean pushed at his chest with both hands, but Sam caught his wrists, holding him still and shoving him backward. Dean felt his back hit the wall. Again. He should shove back, give Sam the play-fight he was probably looking for. But it was like his body was outside of his control. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the challenge still hanging in Sam's eyes, couldn't help feeling just how fucking big Sam's stupid hands were on his wrists, the easy strength with which Sam pinned him to the wall. God dammit, the switch was still effecting him, because his skin was too damn sensitive and he shivered before he could help himself, and he couldn't stop thinking about Sam's gigantic fucking hands- And now he was half-hard. Awesome. Sam's expression changed, just for a split-second, to that same dark look Dean couldn't quite interpret. Then it shifted to something closer to guilt. The grip on his wrists tightened and Sam pushed him harder into the wall. 

"What's the matter? Decide you wanna give up after all?" Dean took a deep breath and snapped himself out of it, shoving Sam back hard and punching his arm. 

"You wish, asshole. C'mon, pizza and Braveheart." He took another few deep breaths, then followed Sam out of the room. He had to get this out of his system.

He got his chance the next day at a tiny little bar in a town just outside Topeka. He was nursing his second beer, cracking stupid jokes about Céline Dion at an unamused Sam, when a girl walked in that caught his eye. She was pretty and tall, maybe only an inch or so shorter than Dean. Her shoulder-length wavy hair was light brown, and bounced when she walked. Best of all, as she walked to the bar, she caught Dean's eye and gave him a long slow smile. He grinned, turning back to Sam. His smile faltered when he caught sight of his brother's glowering expression. 

"Really? You're gonna leave _tonight_? We still have no idea what's going on here. We need to research and go see the-" 

"Oh, come on. It's not like we can do much tonight anyway. We need to go talk to the farmer guy. And look at her, Sammy. She's hot."

"She's small-town hot," Sam muttered, staring into his beer.

"Look, I'll make it up to ya tomorrow, alright? I promise. C'mon, it's been forever since I got laid." Sam's eyebrows nearly touched, and he stared up through them at Dean, lips thin and tightly pressed together.

"What do I care? You want to ditch research on me to get laid? Just another fucking Tuesday."

"It's Tuesday already?"

"You know what I mean," Sam said, scowling. Dean rolled his eyes.

"I'll help tomorrow. Don't be a bitch."

"Fucking go, then." Dean stood, annoyed.

"I fucking will. Jesus." 

He stormed to the bar. Why the Hell was Sammy giving him such a hard time about this? It had been a while, and his last shot had been in Sam's body. Fucking Sam had cock-blocked him there too. God, the guy needed to learn when to relax and let go of research for a night. He was so damn up-tight about everything. Never let himself have any fun, got mad when Dean tried to have fun... Dean sighed. Time to forget about Sam. Focus on the hot girl instead. He could do that. He pulled up a stool next to her and gave her his best seduction face. 

"Buy you a drink?"

Thirty minutes later, Dean was at her place, a tiny little garage-turned-apartment a few blocks over. He kissed her hard, tugging her body against his. She was warm and soft and her lips were fucking magic moving against his. It really _had_ been too long. He grabbed at her ass and she melted into him, her hands running down his chest. Dean managed to get her top off, and she grabbed at his shirt as well, tugging it off. 

"God, Emma, you feel so-"

"It's Eva," she said, sounding more amused than annoyed. He kissed her hard, hoping that would make up for it a little, his hands slipping beneath her bra. She shoved him away suddenly, and he froze.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to assume-"

"Shut up. I'm just gonna take my clothes off," she hissed. Dean nodded. A girl after his own heart.

"Right on." She unhooked her bra, giving him a small smile.

"Take your pants off. Boxers too." Dean gave her an appraising glance. 

"I like a girl who takes charge." He turned around. His ass was arguably his best feature, and he wanted to give her a good look at it as he stripped slowly, tugging his jeans and his briefs together down over his ass. He assumed it would have the normal effect. So he was a little worried when she let out a huffy laugh. 

"Who's Sam?" Dean felt his heart catch in his chest. Sam was not supposed to come into this. Sam had no damn place in his bedroom activities. 

"What?" he asked when he'd recovered a little. 

"The tat. On your ass. 'Sam's.' So who's Sam?" Dean whipped back around. 

"I don't have a tat on my ass," he said stupidly. The girl- Eva, Emma, whatever the hell her name was- gave him a weird look. 

"Uh, yeah. Yeah you do. Look-" She grabbed his hand and dragged him to the bathroom. Dean followed as best he could, waddling in his half-removed jeans. He craned his neck as she moved the cabinet mirror to reflect in the regular one. And Dean stared at his own ass. There it was, in all its cursive glory on his right ass-cheek. _Sam's_. 

"Sonofabitch," he muttered softly. He tugged his jeans back up and pushed past Eva/Emma. He grabbed his shirt and his wallet and headed for the door.

"What- you're leaving? Just like that?"

"Sorry, Emma," he said, giving her a last winning smile. "I've got to go murder my brother. I'll call you." 

She looked confused, but gave him a little half wave as she shut the door. He still had a chance there, tomorrow, maybe, if they wrapped the case up fast. But first, deal with Sam. Fucking Sam. Dean's hands clenched into fists as he speed-walked down the street and back to the motel. 

He burst into the room, ready to tear Sam a new one, but his jaw dropped as he took in the scene. Sam was there on the bed. Sam was alone. Sam wasn't wearing any clothes at all, and Sam had his fucking monster dick in his hand. Dean felt his jaw drop.

"Er- I'm gonna take a shower," he murmured, retreating to the bathroom before he had a chance to say anything more stupid than that. 

He turned on the shower, listening to the water run as he sank to the ground, leaning up against the cold tub. Jesus fucking Christ. They'd caught each other jerking off before, when they were younger and hadn't learned how to be sneaky yet. But that- God dammit, his wires were still crossed, and he was so fucked up he couldn't even understand it, but that- Sam laying on the bed fisting his cock, his eyes dark and wanting- that had been one of the hottest things he'd ever seen in his life. And what kind of a freak was he for even _entertaining_ that thought? If Sam knew Dean had thought it, even for a moment, he'd leave again. He'd go off on his own and leave his freak of a brother in disgust, and he'd be right to do so. But even the thought of Sam leaving filled Dean with a kind of blind panic. He couldn't let that happen. Wouldn't. He'd just push the thoughts away into the darkest corners of his mind and never ever _ever_ think about them again. And right now? He definitely wouldn't jack it to his brother. 

He stepped under the cold water, letting it cool his blood down too. He focused on how pissed he was instead. That was better. Sam had fucking tattooed his ass? That wasn't a prank. That was a war tactic. Dean was gonna have to kill him. He toweled off and steeled himself for the awkwardness before heading back into the room. Sam sat on the bed, cheeks flushed, dressed, thank fucking god. He gave Dean a quick guilty glance before staring at the carpet again.

"Sorry, man, I figured you'd be gone all night." Dean sighed, sitting on the other bed facing him. 

"I would have. If some fuckin' douche-canoe in need of a good beat-down hadn't tattooed my freaking _ass_." Sam looked startled, then his mouth curled into a slow grin.

"I almost forgot about that."

"Yeah, well, I'm thinkin' I give you something to help you not forget. What the hell, Sam?"

"It's not permanent. Got the recipe from Ash. The ink's supposed to last a month or so." Dean heaved a sigh of relief.

"Thank god. Wasn't sure how, but I knew I was gonna have to take you down otherwise. But really? 'Sam's'? Really? I fuckin' hate you, man." Sam grinned.

"Am I wrong? I mean you'd do basically anything for me. Plus, it's hilarious."

"It's not hilarious!"

"Admit it. It's a little hilarious." Dean groaned and hit Sam's thigh as hard as he could.

"You don't own my ass, Sammy. Stupid dick. You're gonna wake up on fire, keep this up."

"Still better than waking up as you again." Dean shook his head. He couldn't argue with that. 


	6. Chapter 6

After much deliberation, Dean decided against setting Sam on fire. But it was a close call. He stayed up stewing in the next bed, listening to the low sounds of Sam snoring. Doing anything to Sam while he slept- it wouldn't work in a hotel room. When Sam was asleep in the Impala, when the car was moving, he might sleep deeply enough for Dean to fuck with him, but with no movement and little sound- well, both of them woke at the slightest disturbance. His annoyance only grew as he lay there, unable to sleep. Fucking Sam. That last one... that was right on the border of not okay. How was he supposed to get laid with a giant-ass stamp of Sam's name on his ass? Fucker was going down. He spent most of the night thinking of plans and discarding them instantly before finally falling asleep at five in the morning.

_He was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming because Sam was naked on top of him, pressing him into the mattress. His lips pressed rough against Dean's throat, and his hands roaming all over Dean's body. Dean groaned, writhing beneath him, trapped in the dream-state where he didn't care what was happening._

_"Dean," Sam whispered, and Dean felt the hard drag of Sam's cock against his stomach._

_"Sam- Sammy, fuck," Dean muttered, his voice low and ragged. Sam's hands slid beneath him, pulling their chests closer together as Sam grabbed his ass with both hands._

_"Mine," Sam said, nipping Dean's earlobe. Dean gasped, so desperate for more that he couldn't catch enough air in his lungs. His hips twitched upward, his hand tangled in Sam's hair._

_"Yeah- Sam, please-"_

_"Dean!"_

"Dean! Wake up," Sam's voice said, and a heavy hand touched his shoulder. Dean's eyes snapped open and he stared up at Sam in horror, scrambling away so fast he fell off the bed and landed hard on his ass. "Sorry- you were having a nightmare. You were saying my name. You okay?" Dean choked on his own spit and started coughing, desperately trying to catch his breath. Sam appeared behind him in seconds, his hand coming to rest on Dean's shoulder. Dean jerked backwards, and Sam's eyes flashed with hurt.

"Shit- bad dream. Bad bad dream," he gasped by way of apology. Sam nodded.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"I'm good," Dean said. He let Sam tug him to his feet, trying not to feel Sam's stupid fucking gigantic calloused hands helping him. He moved away instantly, and Sam's eyes changed to their sad puppy dog mode. If he only knew what Dean had been thinking about, he wouldn't look so put-out. 

"I'm good," he repeated, more for himself. Sam gave him a slow nod as Dean readjusted himself to hide his boner. "Find anything last night? Or did you just spend the whole time jerkin' off?"

"Like you're one to talk about spending time jerking off," Sam muttered. "I hit the books. Right now, it could be just about anything. I mean- all we know is there were unspecified mutilations and a dead girl. No pictures, no real descriptions- I say we hit the farmer first and see if he knows anything."

"Not the cops?" Sam frowned

"Dean- from what I saw in the newspapers, it kind of seems like they're covering something up. I mean no description of the body? Or even the mutilations? Something's going on here. We know this Jones guy reported the cattle. Gotta be the best place to start, right?"

"Okay. FBI?" Sam sighed.

"Yeah, guess we better go FBI."

"Morning," Dean said, giving the man a brief smile and flashing his badge in time with Sam. "I'm Agent Buckingham. This is Agent McVie. We're here looking into the death of Vera Blackwood. We need to ask you a few questions." The man nodded, his hands wringing together in front of him.

"Course. Good someone's looking into this. I'll tell you anything you need to know. Come in."

There was one tiny chair that the older farmer took, and a tiny couch. The man sat, gesturing them toward the couch. Dean stayed standing until the man gave him a pointed look. Then he squished up next to Sam, all-too-aware of Sam's arm and thigh pressed against his own. 

"So we saw in the police report you've been dealing with your cattle dying," Sam said, giving the guy a sympathetic smile. "Can you tell us about that?" The man's face darkened.

"Nazi shit, that's what it is. Kids, I thought at first. But after finding Vera... Figure it has to be some real racist assholes. Killing cows, ripping their hearts out, and carving swastikas into their hides. Killed the girl like a cow too. Cops tried to hush it up. Don't want anyone knowing we got racists."

"That's what we thought," Dean lied. "We've seen this kinda thing before. Mind telling us how the hearts were cut out? Did it look like an animal, or-"

"No. Looked like it was cut out. Not that well, but- you know. Jagged knifey edges. Then swastikas all around it. The fucker- pardon my French, Agents- left 'em in the barn. Put the girl there too. Think it was just me and Officer Borgia saw the girl before he got her dressed again, guessing the coroner too."

"Where were the swastikas?" Dean asked, brushing against Sam as he leaned forward. "On her body, I mean."

"Just around her heart- well. Where it used to be. Three of 'em. Same with the cows. Some sick fucker," the man repeated, shaking his head. 

"When did you find her?"

"Week after I found the first cow. She's the third. Body. I found em all in the morning. Makes a man not want to wake up at all, sometimes." He shook his head, barely responding as Dean and Sam made their goodbyes. The second the door was closed, Sam turned to Dean. 

"What do you think? Werewolves?"

"Nazi werewolves? Can't be. Full moon's not till next week. But dude- taking down a Nazi werewolf? New life goal."

"Well- what else eats hearts?" 

"We don't know they're eating em. They're just stealing them. Could be witches, right? Doin' freaky symbolic shit to the bodies, taking the hearts. Maybe we should call up Bobby's Dark Willow. See if she knows anything."

"Witches," Sam said thoughtfully, sliding into the passenger seat. "Maybe. But then- why the escalation? Why start with cows then kill a girl?" 

"Last witch did that."

"No, the last witch needed cow parts. It wasn't conscious mutilation, not exactly. This- this doesn't make sense." Dean groaned loudly. 

"Dammit. Not werewolves or witches or anything we can think of off the top of our heads. Research?"

"Yeah- I'll hit the books, see if Bobby knows anything. You go talk to that cop- the one Jones mentioned-"

"Borgia. Awesome. I'll see if the girl's been buried yet. If we can get a look at the body, that'd be useful. I'll drop ya at the hotel. Meet for lunch at the diner?" Sam nodded thoughtfully. 

"Dean- what was your nightmare about?" he asked. Dean felt his face flush bright red. 

"Why're you suddenly asking?"

"It's just- you know, I've had dreams that happened, when all of this started. And you seemed pretty freaked out. So I was wondering if whatever happened to me-"

"No," Dean said shortly. "No, this one is absolutely never happening. You're the guy with superpowers, Sammy. Don't panic."

"Well- just in case. What happened in your-"

"Nothing Sam, Jesus." Sam gave him those stupid hurt-puppy dog eyes again, and Dean scowled, pulling up to the hotel. "I just don't wanna talk about it. It's nothing- nothing about what's going on, alright?"

"Why are you being so weird about this?" Sam asked doggedly. Dean gripped the steering wheel tighter and tighter until his knuckles were white against the dark leather. 

"Why are _you_ being so weird about this. Just drop it."

"Is it because I was in the dream? Was I evil or-"

"Sam, if you don't get out of my car right now, I swear to god-" Sam gave him that stupid wounded look again, but hopped out.

"Noon at the diner?"

"If you can act like a normal fucking person, maybe," Dean muttered. Sam's jaw tightened and he stormed off. Dean watched him go, feeling sick. He had to get his stupid brain under control before Sam found out. He shook his head, trying to shake off the stubborn thoughts too, then drove off to the police station.

Borgia was fat and middle-aged, and his hair matched Dean's current sad look. He looked almost exactly like every stereotype of a cop Dean had ever held, the only difference being he wasn't holding a donut. He looked over Dean's fake credentials, frowning.

"Why's the FBI coming all the way down here for one dead girl? Ain'tcha got better things to do?" Dean stared the man down evenly.

"In matters of racial discrimination, we like to step in before things get out of hand."

"Racial- the girl was white! Cows were white too!" The guy sputtered, his hands fists at his sides. Dean nodded as amiably as he could.

"Right, but the marking on them- the swastikas?" The man's face paled.

"How'd you hear about that?"

"We've got our ways. Look- I need to see the pictures from the scene so that-"

"Don't have any pictures. Cameras weren't workin' that day."

"Really. None of the cameras in the precinct were working that day," Dean dead-panned. The cop sputtered. "Look- has she been buried yet? I need to see her. The sooner you help me, the sooner we can shut all this down. I'd hate for the news your town is swarming with racists to get out. Much easier to just help me out. Less legal trouble for you that way too."

"Legal-" The cop sputtered, face turning pink. "She's at the mortuary. Funeral's tomorrow."

"Awesome. You got an address?"

"Well, they're not swastikas," Dean said, sidling into the booth across from Sam. "Not a racist thing, far as I can tell. They're like swirly liney things, but with dots between some of the lines. And the girl was pregnant, so filter that away in your- wherever your brain filters... things." He passed his phone over, showing Sam the picture. Sam frowned. "Cop was pretty shady too. Might want to look into him. You find anything?"

"Not much yet. This'll help. Send it to Bobby. What do you think about Jones?" Dean frowned.

"They're his cows, man. I doubt it. Plus- he didn't strike me as the type. I'm thinkin' it just started, right? Gotta be someone who just moved here or someone who turned. Maybe the latter, with the escalation. That should be the focus."

"Good point." Their food came quickly, and Dean gave the waitress a wide smile and a thank you a bit too sincere. Sam scowled into his soup. 

"What's up your ass?" Dean asked, digging into his burger. Not bad. Sam shook his head.

"Just- this seems weird. Doesn't it? I haven't heard of anything like this before."

"Well- most of the shit we deal with we haven't seen anything like before."

"I just mean- like the cop covering it up, the cows- the hearts. I dunno, man, I have a bad feeling."

"I have a bad feeling about this," Dean said in his best Harrison Ford voice. It didn't even get him a smile. Sam was worked up about something, maybe not just this. Poor guy had enough on his plate, Dean knew. He reached across the table and touched Sam's wrist. "It'll be fine. We'll work the case, figure it out like we always do. Don't worry, Sammy." Sam shot him a small smile, then returned to moodily picking at his salad. Dean's phone buzzed. 

"Hey, Bobby," Dean said. Bobby huffed on the other line.

"This is still Dean, right? No weird-ass switchin' back and forth on me?"

"Nope, it's Dean."

"Good. Found something about that symbol. It's some ancient Samoan dialect. Means half, far as I can tell. Not sure what it's doin' on dead cows. And the girl."

"Weird. Okay, we'll keep lookin'. Thanks, Bobby."

"Stay outa trouble. And stop that stupid prank shit. Both of ya."

"Of course. Never started it." Dean hung up before Bobby could say anything else. He sighed. "Here's something that'll cheer you up. Time for more research."

Dean tried to sit down and focus on reading through the library's books on Samoan and Philippine mythology. He really did. But it was boring as hell, and before long, he was pacing around the hotel room, poking Sam, checking his phone, and juggling the hotel coffee packets. 

"Hey, Sam," he said, smirking. "Sam, check this out. I can balance one of these on my nose for like a solid ten seconds. Watch."

"Cool, Dean," Sam said without looking up. Dean sighed and collapsed beside him, taking up as much of the bed as he could and throwing a leg on top of Sam's. Sam shot him an annoyed glance.

"Find anything?"

"Actually- yeah. I think so. Get this- a manananggal. It preys on pregnant women sometimes and eats hearts."

"The fuck kind of name is manananggal?"

"Means 'one who separates.' It's like- kind of like a vampire that removes half its body and flies around looking for victims. They can be summoned by their symbol- the swastika-looking thing- by jilted women. Looks like they target pregnant women and those... plagued by love?"

"Hang on- they remove half their body?" Dean asked. Sam passed him the book, and Dean came face to face with an illustration of a winged woman, her entrails hanging down beneath where her abdomen ended. "Dude. Gross."

"Yeah. It looks like the first night, they suck a victim's blood by-" Sam made a face. "By sticking their long thin tongue down their victim's throats." 

"Hot."

"Uh huh. And the second night, if they like the blood, they go for the heart." Dean clutched his own chest just for a second to make sure his was still there. "Guessing the cows summoned it, and the girl was its victim. It'll be looking for other prey."

"So- how do we kill it?" Sam flipped through the book.

"They can't be killed when they're in their whole state, just when they're separated. Looks like to kill it, we have to find the bottom half and- rub salt into it. That'll kill that, then when the top half comes back, cut its head off." Dean fell back into the pillows, groaning. 

"Well, fuck. That's disgusting. At least we've got a plan. We just have to find it." Sam leaned back too, rubbing his forehead. 

"Gotta find jilted women. Hey, you're really good at making those." 

"Don't think making 'em will help in this case." Sam shifted, pressing their arms against each other. Normally, Dean reminded himself, that wouldn't mean a damn thing. It wouldn't be a big deal, just laying near each other, ribbing each other, but right now... He shivered, trying to gather up the strength to force himself to move away. He couldn't. He couldn't make Sam get that kicked-puppy look again today. "How jilted do you have to be to summon a monster?"

"I dunno. Feel like you were close when you thought the tat was permanent." Sam rolled onto his side, and Dean mirrored him, feeling the loss of touch instantly. 

"Nah, I don't need a monster. I would have ripped you apart inch by inch with my bare hands. More fun that way," Dean said, earning a grin from Sam. Sam's hand reached out and rubbed his head, and Dean leaned into the sensation. That was fine. Totally brotherly and familiar. Totally fine. Sam's giant hand clobbered him gently, brushing over the spiky strands of hair that were finally starting to grow in. 

"It's coming back fast."

"Lucky for you," Dean grumbled. His eyes closed. Sam kept touching his barely-there hair. Dean's skin lit up where Sam touched him. 

"Ah, you're still pretty. Got that girl last night, didn't you?" Sam's fingers felt good. Maybe he didn't totally hate a short buzz after all. Better than being completely bald, at least.

"Yeah, until she saw I was fucking _claimed_ by some asshole named Sam." Dean felt Sam's soft laugh vibrate through him. He kept his eyes closed. As long as he didn't look, this was fine. 

"Your hair feels funny like this. It's like I can't stop touching it." 

"Feels weird when you touch it." Sam laughed again, his fingers massaging Dean's scalp more than anything else now. Dean sighed in contentment.

"You're like a dog. Love having your head rubbed." 

"Fuck off, Sammy," Dean said. He still didn't move. Maybe the Man-in-England or whatever the hell it was called had paralyzing powers, and had somehow snuck in here. That's what he was going with. Not his fault, totally out of his control, nothing to do with the fact that it was Sam touching him.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Sam said softly, fingers still moving slowly across Dean's head. Dean grunted. "You don't want to talk about it, we don't have to talk about it."

"Damn right," Dean said. Sam's fingers stopped moving, his hand still resting heavy on the side of Dean's head. Dean's eyes flickered open, and stared straight into Sam's soft brown eyes, inches from his own. His whole body felt warm and heavy. The room smelled like old books and gunpowder. Sam's thumb stroked his cheek, soft and slow, and Dean couldn't decipher the look on his face. He bit back a comment about chick-flick moments. He didn't want to think too hard, didn't want to ruin this- whatever this rare moment of brotherly affection was, so he stayed still, focusing on the feeling of Sam's hand on his face, on the strange look in Sam's eyes. It was Sam who pulled away first, his face clouding into a frown.

"C'mon. We should go downtown. See if we can find anything out about who might have summoned this thing."

"Yeah," Dean sighed. He could still feel the phantom touch of Sam's fingers on his cheeks. He swallowed hard and pushed the sensation down with all the other useless feelings he had. Not helpful? He didn't need to think about it. He set his thoughts on the monster. As long as he did that, everything would be fine. 


	7. Chapter 7

Dean's favorite part of most of their cases was going out, drinking, and talking to the locals. This one was no exception, although he kept his eyes peeled for Eva/Emma. Seeing her would complicate the whole 'FBI agent' thing, not to mention the awkwardness of the other night. She wasn't at the bar, though, at least not yet, so Dean let his guard down. He found a hot young couple and started chatting them up, catching occasional appraising looks from the guy. 

"So, FBI, huh?" the girl- Christie, she'd said her name was- asked, leaning toward him. "That sound fun. What brings you to Motima?" Dean took a pull from his beer, hoping he was nailing the mysterious agent look. 

"I don't want to go spreading things around," he said, glancing quickly over his shoulder. "Don't want to cause a panic. But looks like we might have a killer here." Christie nodded.

"You mean what happened to Vera?"

"Did you know her?"

"Well sure, everyone knew Vera. She was sweet. Horrible what happened." Dean frowned. She didn't sound all that broken up about it.

"What was she like? Did she have any enemies? Anyone who might want to see her get hurt?"

"Well, considering she broke up the Livingston Wedding-"

"Shut it, Dave." Dave pursed his lips together, shooting the girl an annoyed glance. Dean perked up.

"She broke up a wedding?"

"Not really. It was last year. Carl Livingston- I guess he got cold feet," Christie started. 

"So he left Angelique Moreau at the altar," Dave finished, his dark blue eyes shifting down Dean's body. Dean hid his grin, trying to think of a good line to tell Sam later. _Maybe information won't be the only thing I'm pumping this guy for tonight._ Not bad. He glanced around, finding Sam sitting near the back wall, presumably listening to the blonde head beside him. He shook his head. _Focus_. 

"He didn't- anyway. Carl got together with Vera a week or so later. Some people say he was cheating," Christie admitted, glaring at Dave. "But Carl- he ain't the type. He's sweet. Treated Vera real good. They were engaged, you know."

"Really a shame. Look- Angelique Moreau. What can you tell me about her? She still in town?" Christie shot a side-eyed glance at Dave and leaned toward Dean, eyes sparkling with gossip.

"Nobody sees her anymore. She hides up in her house- they say in the attic- and she won't talk to any of us. She's been in there for months." That was it, then, the girl who summoned the monster. Easy. Dean gave both of them a smile.

"Right. Thank you guys. I've gotta go talk to my partner, but I'll look for ya later." Dave handed Dean his phone with a smug grin. 

"How about I call you later?" Dean glanced at Christie. 

"Uh- that okay with-?"

"We're not together," Christie said, rolling her eyes. "Nice to meet you, Agent Buckingham."

Dean made his way through the crowded bar, heading toward where he'd seen Sam's head last. Finally, he found the raised round table, but he stopped a few feet away. The blonde head he'd noticed earlier was talking to Sam, way too damn close to Sam's face. It was propped up on blonde arms, leaning toward him, laughing at everything Sam said in a too-high voice. Dean scowled. Now he'd have to wait to talk to Sammy. Wasn't like he was gonna cock-block the guy. Not when Sam got laid maybe twice a year. Sam noticed him though and waved him over, eyes wide. 

"Dean- Agent Buckingham. Glad I found you. I, uh- let's go discuss the case somewhere- somewhere quieter." Sam gave a strained smile to the girl and grabbed Dean's arm, practically dragging him away. Dean shot a last glance at the girl- she was, he admitted to himself grudgingly, kinda pretty- and let Sam drag him back to the bar. "Thank god, Dean. I thought she was gonna start stripping me right there."

"And that woulda been a problem for you?" Dean asked, chest feeling a little lighter as Sam handed him a fresh beer.

"She's not- not exactly my type," Sam said, running a hand through his hair. Dean snorted.

"Hot and willing ain't your type?" Sam gave him a side-long glance.

"She's not that hot." Dean looked back toward the girl and shrugged. Maybe he _was_ gay.

"You got weird taste, man." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Learn anything?" Dean filled him in, keeping an eye on Dave a few seats down. Every so often Dave looked up at him, his eyes blazing, small smile on his lips. Guy was attractive enough. Once he got this case half-way solved, maybe... He focused back on Sam. "So I think we go talk to this Angelique chick. It's gotta be her that called it, right? Jilted woman, left at the altar, reason to hurt the victim."

"Yeah- yeah, you're right. You sober enough to go tonight?" Dean shrugged.

"Good enough for a fight. But I think we have time. These monsters- from what we read, they've got a few day cool-off period, right? We should see some more mutilations and warning signs before another victim. So I'm thinkin' we go talk to her during the day. Draw less attention, and then if we're wrong, easier to find another lead." Sam sighed, glancing over at Dave.

"And this has nothing to do with the guy you've been eyeing all night? You're just looking out for our cover story?" Dean shifted guiltily.

"Well- I wouldn't go if I thought anybody was gonna get hurt, Sam, but-" Dean shrugged, trying for an innocent smile. Sam shook his head, staring into his beer. 

"Go- it's fine. I mean, you're right. Might be better to wait until we're sure." Dean flashed his best smile.

"I ever tell you you're the best brother ever?"

"Sure," Sam said with another tight-lipped smile that didn't reach his eyes. Dean frowned, touching Sam's arm.

"You sure you're good?"

"I'm okay, Dean. Go. Have a good night. Maybe I'll go talk to that girl again." Sam wasn't good. He was hurt or upset about something. Dean opened his mouth to pry more, then he remembered his stupid nearly-bald head and the tattoo on his ass. He shrugged. Sam could deal with one night of disappointment, and Dean could get the whole weird-involuntary-fantasies-about-his-brother thing out of his system.

"Call me if you need me, alright?" Sam nodded, giving Dean his thin fake smile. Dean hesitated a second longer, then went off after Dave, feeling vaguely guilty. 

Dave kissed soft and slow, like he wanted to make love, not fuck. Dean hated it. Slow sweet foreplay wasn't exactly his thing. Being treated like a breakable little doll- also not his thing. He took control of the kiss, tangling a hand in Dave's long hair and tugging the man's face to his. Dean bit at his bottom lip, and Dave pulled away, frowning. 

"Ow- What's your problem, man?" 

"You don't want to get a little rough?" Dean asked. Usually the biting the lip thing was enough to get his partners to take charge, to throw him around, cause him a little pain, give it to him the way he wanted- _needed_ \- it. But Dave stared at him like he was an alien.

"No. I just want a normal hookup." Dean groaned. If he wasn't so damn horny, if it hadn't been so long since he'd gotten laid, he'd leave. But Dave was cute enough, and God, he was desperate for it. He sighed.

"Okay, sorry," he muttered, letting Dave's lips push gently to his again, soft kisses, not even any fucking tongue. 

Dean flicked his own out, running it along the seam of Dave's lips, but Dave's lips stayed closed, and after a moment, Dean gave up. He tugged at Dean's shirt, breaking the kiss and pulling it off. Dave's chest was disappointing, flat and a little flabby, no defined muscle there, nothing that gave him any resistance as he brushed his hands across the skin. Dean's shirt went next, then both of their pants, and Dean's hand reached for Dave's cock. Ever since he'd been in Sam's body, he'd been dying to feel another guy's cock again, dying to feel someone grow hard under his hand- his hand closed around a small cock, already hard and straining, and he froze. His other hand fell to the amulet hanging from his neck.

What the hell was he doing here? What the hell was he doing here with this random guy with a small cock he wasn't even that attracted to? Because he needed to get laid? The guilt he'd pushed off earlier returned full-force. Sam was upset about something. Sam had looked upset when he'd left, and Dean had just left him, hadn't even tried to figure out what was wrong. And now, the guy was probably sitting alone in the hotel room, totally miserable, while Dean went off to fuck a guy he wasn't even into. God, he was a selfish douchebag. He sighed and pushed away from Dave. 

"Look- I'm- I should go." Dave's dark blue eyes filled with hurt, and he tugged his pants back up to his waist. Dean followed suit. 

"What- is it something I did?"

"No. It's not you, man, it's- it's my partner. I left him all alone to work on this case and he- he's having a hard time. I shouldn't have left and I need to go." He threw on his clothes quickly and headed for the door. Dave's hand landed softly on his shoulder. 

"You should tell him how you feel about him," the guy said. Dean swallowed hard. 

"What?"

"Your partner. I mean- it's obvious. I saw how you were with him at the bar. What's the worst that could happen- he rejects you?" Dean felt his cheeks flare red, and his hand clenched into fists as he shrugged the guy off.

"We're partners, alright? Nothing else. That- it's nothing else. We're just-"

"It's not that weird. I mean- spend that much time working together, feelings are bound to happen, right?" Dean glared, feeling his jaw clench up. "Think about it."

"Right," Dean said, escaping before Dave could say anything else stupid. "Asshole," he muttered under his breath. 

He walked quickly back to the hotel, muttering under his breath about brothers and idiot hicks and people who assume shit. The night was cool, and he shivered, wishing he'd been smart enough not to leave his jacket with Sam before running over to some stupid asshole who wouldn't have even fucked him right. He wrapped his arms around his chest, staring up at the sky to distract himself. The night was clear, and out here, away from the lights of any big city, the stars were bright, and there were more of them than he usually saw. If Sam were here, he'd make some stupid-ass comment about how pretty it was, or how small it made them seem. Or he'd just stare at em, that dumb Chick Flick look of his in his eyes, and Dean would know he was thinking those things, even if he didn't say em. Dean sped up. He fumbled with the key and quietly slid open the door. Sam could be asleep. He slipped inside the dim room, then froze. Sam was in bed. Something was on top of him. 

Dean flicked on the light and grabbed his pistol, aiming it above the bed. The thing on top of Sam whipped around to face him. It had long dark hair that swam around its vaguely feminine head, but its eyes were holes in empty sockets, dark and horrifying. Sam's blood dripped from its abnormally long tongue as the thing sucked it back into its mouth, revealing two rows of shark-like teeth. Wings sprouted from its back, but its body ended below the ribcage, and the sight was so disconcerting that Dean froze for a solid five seconds. He snapped out of it, shooting at the beast. The thing gave an inhuman shriek, then flew out the open window, its huge wings flapping off into the night. 

Dean ran to the window and slammed it shut. Sam- Sam hadn't moved, even at the sound of the gunshot. He didn't remember making it to Sam's side, he just collapsed beside his brother, his ear going to Sam's mouth. He felt Sam's soft even breathing. Thank god.

"Sam! Sammy!" He shook Sam's shoulders, movements growing more frantic as he didn't get a response. "Christ- Sam, please be okay, please be okay- please wake up, I'll do anything-" he muttered, not fully sure what he was saying. His heart pounded so loudly he could hear it. He kept shaking Sam's huge weight, panic catching in his chest. "Sammy- oh fuck, Sam, please wake up, please-" Sam's eyes snapped open, hands whipping out to grab at Dean. He glanced around the room rapidly, apparently disoriented. Dean felt like he could cry, like he could taste the relief heavy on his tongue. "Oh thank god, thank god, Sam- Sam, you're okay, you're-" 

Before Dean could say another word, he was on his back, Sam on top of him, looking around the room for a threat. His eyes settled on Dean, still wild and unfocused. Dean opened his mouth to ask if Sam was okay. Then Sam's lips crashed into his and he forgot how to think. 

Sam kissed him hard and rough, full of teeth and raw need, clutching at his body like Dean might disappear at any second. Dean kissed him back, his body moving instinctively, taking everything he'd wanted for the past week. He caught Sam's bottom lip between his teeth and pulled gently, and Sam fucking _growled_ above him, clutching at him tightly and snapping at his lips until Dean knew they would be bruised and swollen, their tongues pressing together. Dean grabbed at Sam's back- he couldn't think too hard, he just knew he needed Sam, needed him closer, needed him so damn bad he felt like he was going to die from it- and Sam's hand cupped his cheek, possessive and guiding, his lips still harsh against Dean's. Dean groaned, rocking his hips up to meet Sam's- he'd never been so damn hard in his life- rubbing against Sam's own hard dick. Jesus- it was huge. Dean had almost forgotten. He broke the kiss, sucking in a breath.

"Sam-" he gasped. Sam froze, eyes focusing, then growing wide. He let go of Dean and jumped off of him, expression constricting to horror. Dean felt his heart sink as he scrambled away too. 

"Fuck- Dean, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry- I- I don't know what happened- I-"

"S'okay, Sam," Dean managed to get out. His voice sounded rough and needy. He swallowed hard. "It's okay. It- the man-in-England- it was feeding off you. Must've had some sort of venom. Keep you asleep. Not your fault-" No, of course it wasn't Sam's fault. He wasn't the one who was fucking loving it as his drugged brother who didn't know what he was doing kissed him. Jesus, Dean was fucked up beyond all belief. Sam's expression slowly cleared, and he sat down at the edge of the bed.

"Are you okay? Did I- did I hurt you?" 

"No," Dean said, shaking his head. Sam held his shoulder, looking him over, while Dean wished with every fiber of his being that his stupid cock would stop taking such an interest. "No, I'm fine, Sam. It's fine. Are you- that thing- Jesus, I'm so glad you're okay. For a second, I thought- and I fucking left you _alone_ tonight. It could have-"

"I'm okay," Sam said, his eyes still perfect-circle wide. "I- I can't believe I did that to you-"

"It wasn't your fucking fault, Sam. That bitch was on top of you sucking your fucking blood- poison. That's what it was, alright? It wasn't you. We have to find her- what if she comes back for you? I mean, if-" Sam groaned. 

"She won't come back tonight."

"But-"

"Dean. She won't. And won't go after anyone else either. I'm the victim, okay? This is good, aside from me assaulting you."

"You didn't-"

"Shut up and let me finish." Dean glared at him, but stopped talking. "This is good. Because she's not going after anyone else. She's going after one of us, so we know where her top half will be tomorrow. And we'll get her, I promise, but I feel weird and dizzy and tired, and I think I need to sleep. Okay? So we'll get her- we'll find her tomorrow. But tonight- I need to sleep. I feel... I feel messed up, Dean." 

Dean frowned, placing the back of his hand against Sam's forehead. Sam didn't feel hot. He wasn't exactly sure what the protocol was after getting attacked by half a vampire. Was it like a concussion? Was it even safe for Sam to sleep? Was it the drug that made him want to sleep, and if so was that okay?

"I dunno, Sam, maybe we should try to figure out-"

"I need to sleep. Okay? We'll figure it out tomorrow." 

Sam turned away from him, huddling into a ball beneath the covers. Dean stayed at the side of the bed. No way in hell was he leaving Sam alone unprotected again with a monster after him. He sat around stewing in anxiety for another hour before typing out an email to Bobby, leaving out the kiss, not even willing to leave Sam long enough to call. The immediate threat was the monster. Dean had to figure that out first, because if he couldn't save Sam's life, he couldn't deal with the other shit. Save Sam first, worry about the various ways he'd just scarred the guy for life later. He could do that. It only took Bobby a few moments to reply, and Dean wondered, not for the first time, if the man ever slept. 

_Dean-_

_Been looking into Manananggals. Sam should be fine to sleep. Only side-effect of the feeding is sedation during it, immediate loss of inhibitions for a few minutes after, and general weakness for a few hours. Not a bad idea to stay up and make sure it doesn't come back, but the things are nocturnal. You're good come daybreak. Call me tomorrow. We'll work on finding a sure-fire way to kill the bastard. We ain't letting it get Sam, and we'll figure out why it's after him._

_S_

Dean nodded to himself, grabbing one of the shotguns and loading it with rock salt rounds. He sat on the floor, leaning up against Sam's bed and staring at the window. If the fucker came back, he'd be ready for it. He wondered if Sam was going to hate him forever for what had happened. It was Dean's fault, going along with it when Sam was so clearly out of his damn mind at the time. Sam hadn't realized it was him, probably thought Dean was the girl from the bar. And Dean had just rolled over and enjoyed it. 

Sam would leave if he knew, and Sam _should_ leave if he knew. Dean just had to make sure whatever sick fucked-up thoughts he had about Sam never came out. He just had to never think about how perfect Sam had felt on top of him, the way their bodies seemed to move in tandem against each other, how blanketed he'd felt by Sam's huge body. He could do that. Just shove what had happened to the dark corner in the back of his mind and never think about it ever. And never ever fucking act on it again. In the meantime, he had to do something to make things less weird, something that would get them back to normal. A new prank. He set everything up on Sam's laptop, grinning to himself. That otta do it. When the sky lightened and his eyes were so heavy he couldn't keep them awake any longer, Dean crawled up onto the bed, careful not to touch Sam. If they were in the same bed, he'd hear anything that tried to come after his brother and wake up. He let himself pass out. He dreamed of Sam again.


	8. Chapter 8

Sam shook him awake only an hour or so later, and Dean flailed blearily, fumbling for the shotgun before realizing who it was. 

"Dean, were you up all night?"

"Not all of it," he yawned. "Just till the sun came out."

"You have to be exhausted. I'll get coffee," Sam said. Dean rubbed his eyes. Sam was already dressed, and avoiding Dean's gaze, shifting from foot to foot. He looked guilty and afraid, and a part of Dean wondered if he walked out the door now, would he ever come back?

"Hold on a second, cowboy," Dean said, hoping the frantic note didn't come through his voice. "Aren't you forgetting to tell me something?" Sam paused, glancing in his general direction.

"What?"

"Well- this thing goes after- what'd you call it? People 'plagued by love.' And pregnant women. So?" Sam's whole body froze. Dean chuckled to himself. "When's my niece or nephew due, Samantha?" Sam's face melted a little and he gave Dean an actual grin. Thank every god Dean didn't believe in.

"What, I'm not showing yet? Any day now, Dean. I didn't tell you. Wasn't sure how you'd react to an out-of-wedlock kid."

"Sammy, I will support you and your bastard child to the ends of the earth. And whoever the deadbeat dad is, I'll hunt him down and stuff his head for ya." Sam shook his head, dimples showing. 

"You get loopy when you don't sleep."

"If some dickhead hadn't gotten attacked by a freak-ass half bat-bitch, I wouldn't have had to stay up all night," Dean said, throwing a pillow in Sam's general direction. Sam huffed.

"Cute way to say you were worried about me." Of course Dean was freaking worried. A monster that was after his brother- he'd always be worried about that. Not to mention Sam acting weird and the whole 'plagued by love' thing. What the hell was that supposed to mean? He had a feeling Sam knew, had a feeling it had something to do with the conversation he'd had with that Lillian bitch. Sam was probably madly in love with some guy from Stanford who didn't love him back or something, and just too embarrassed to talk to Dean about it. Dean wasn't gonna push, not now. Now, he had to get Sam over whatever weird thing had happened between them last night. By being his normal teasing self and not, by any means, acting like he was actually worried.

"Worried- heh, more worried about who's gonna help me carry all our shit if you croak on me. Gimme ten minutes. I could use a walk."

The first clown passed them about a block into their walk. Dean felt Sam tense beside him as the man passed, a glorious masterpiece of white and red faceprint, complete with a big fake rubber nose. He nodded at the clown, but the clown stayed stone-faced, staring straight ahead. Dean grabbed Sam's shoulder just to see him jump, and he wasn't disappointed. Sam shoved him back gently. 

"Asshat."

"You've faced down demons, but clowns are what getcha. C'mon, it's funny." Sam huffed an almost-laugh and shook his head. 

"Sometimes I think I'd rather deal with demons than clowns. Where do you think that guy's going? To terrorize some poor kid's birthday party?"

"Maybe he's going back to the motel to hide under your bed." Sam shoved him again, grabbing his arm to pull him back as he almost fell into the street. Sam's fingers lingered on his arm, and Dean shivered. Funny how even little touches like that felt different now. It was fine. He could ignore it. No problem. "Watch it, Sasquatch, you're too strong to pull that bullshit." Sam let him go, groping a gigantic hand over Dean's short-cropped hair. Dean shivered again, masking it with a scowl as he tugged away.

"Or you could finally learn not to walk in the..." Sam trailed off, his lips tightening as he glanced ahead. A second clown moved toward them, waddling forward on over-sized shoes. His orange wig stuck up in all directions. Sam's eyes stayed wide, and his mouth silent until the man passed. Dean snorted. 

"Must be a big party."

"Or a serial-killer convention," Sam muttered. They walked on. Sam glanced behind them every few feet, finally grabbing Dean's upper arm tightly. "Dean- the clowns- something stuck to my shoe." Dean peered behind them, frowning. The clowns were nowhere to be seen.

"You're paranoid. Look-" he turned Sam around. Sam scrutinized the near-empty sidewalk, his jaw ticking.

"No- I swear I saw them." Dean rolled his eyes.

"Looks like you could use some coffee too. Don't worry, Sammy. Big brother'll protect you from the big bad clowns." Sam didn't even respond. His jaw was still clenched, and as they kept walking, he kept checking behind them, occasionally grabbing at Dean's arm. After a few more minutes, he clutched Dean as they walked, in a way that was almost protective. The third and forth clowns stepped out of a store about ten feet ahead and started walking toward them, and a fifth crossed the street. Sam's eyes whipped around wildly. 

"Dean. I'm telling you. We're surrounded by clowns. They're coming toward us." His voice was too calm, too even. Dean had him exactly where he wanted him. He swallowed visibly, grabbing where Sam's hand still held his arm. Sam pulled him to a stop.

"I think you're right. Okay. What do we do?"

"I-I don't know. Do you think they're zombie clowns? Or- or demons possessing clowns? Or just clowns?" The clowns circled, and two of them pulled out knives, growing closer and closer until Dean could've reached out and touched one. Sam kept one hand on Dean's shoulder and held him back, shielding him with his gigantic body. That should have been obnoxious. Sam trying to protect Dean? Really? That was Dean's job. But- at least now when there was no actual danger- it was strangely... nope, he wasn't gonna finish that thought. Instead, he watched Sam freeze, watched his eyes narrow and swivel to Dean. Dean watched as his bitch-face grew to full power.

"You son of a bitch," Sam said. Dean felt his poker face dissolve as laughter shook through him. The clowns put away the knives and grinned, shuffling around. "You son of a bitch, Dean, I thought they were after us. God dammit." Dean fumbled with his wallet, gusts of laughter escaping as he counted out fifty bucks for each clown. The clowns tramped away, leaving Dean wheezing with his hands on his knees. Sam stood over him, his lips twitching and eyebrows furrowed together. 

"I see you tryin' not to laugh." Dean poked Sam's stomach, and a single snort escaped. Sam's face broke into a smile, then knitted back into a scowl so fast Dean almost missed it. "See?"

"You _dick._ I thought that was it. Thought I was going to get murdered by clowns. My heart's still pounding." Dean reached out automatically and put a hand over Sam's heart. He felt Sam's warm chest beneath the flannel, felt a heartbeat against his palm. He swallowed hard and forced himself to grunt and tug it away. 

"Thought you'd figure it out before the knives," Dean mused. "I didn't even tell them to do that. It was a nice touch. Best $250 I've ever spent." Sam shook his head, hitting Dean's arm hard enough to make him yelp.

"That's a whole good pool night. Was it worth it?" 

"Of course it was worth it! You should have seen your face," Dean cackled. Sam's mouth tried and failed again to hide a smile. 

"You're such a jerk."

"Proud of it, bitch. Now, I could use a damn red-eye. Let's go eat."

They arrived at the house around eleven, and Dean stared up at it, fuming. Old farmhouse, dilapidated, on a big slice of land. It looked like something out of every midwest setting horror movie ever made. 

"You'd think sometimes the people summoning monsters would be a little more original. Like- live in an apartment or something. Or have a roommate in a normal fucking house. Always gotta be the big spooky one at the edge of town." Sam's hand found his arm again. Damn, it felt like Sam was touching him a lot today. Maybe he was just more sensitive to it because he couldn't keep his damn thoughts PG. He couldn't bring himself to tug away. 

"We're just scoping it out. Meeting our monster-summoner. It'll be fine." Dean scowled.

"Never said it wouldn't be fine. It's just- have some creativity for once." Sam gave him a look and Dean's scowl deepened. "Alright, Mr. Sensitive, let's get this over with."

Dean knocked on the door, hand on his fake badge. Sam stood with his strained customer-service smile on his face, and they waited together. No answer. Dean rang the doorbell, shrugging at Sam. still no one came. 

"They did say she's a recluse. Think we should break in, or will she call the cops on us?" Sam asked.

"C'mon," Dean said, gesturing Sam to follow as he crept along the side of the house. The first window was shuttered off, but the second, a huge glass piece that jutted out from the wall, wasn't. Dean swore as he looked inside to see their suspect, presumably, laying in a huge pool of dark blood. 

"Dammit," Sam said. They walked back to the front, and Dean kicked the door in with an easy, practiced motion that sent a jolt of pain through his knee. Sonofabitch. He moved through the door before Sam could, his pistol drawn just in case. He swept the room. Nothing but the corpse sitting in the center of the floor. "I'll check upstairs."

"No need, boys," a woman's voice said from the top of the steps out of sight. Dean trained his gun at her, wishing he had more than just a normal pistol, but dammit, he thought this was going to be an easy interview. 

"Why dontcha come down slowly with your hands up," he called roughly. A woman's laugh tinkled down. Slowly a woman stepped down the stairs, dressed in a cocktail dress. Her hair was piled on her head like she was going to a dance, and she walked evenly, gracefully, one stair at a time. It took Dean a second to recognize her.

"Son of a bitch. You're Eva."

"Look at you, remembering my name," she simpered. Sam looked from Dean to the woman.

"Oh shit- this is the girl you-"

"The other night, yeah." He felt Sam's scowl and forced himself to pay attention to the threat at hand. "What? It's not like I knew she was evil." Eva laughed again, this time cold and high. 

"He really has no idea, does he?"

"Shut your fucking mouth," Sam growled, aiming his own gun at her. She raised her hands. 

"Sam- Do you like Sam or Sammy?" Sam fired at her face, but the bullet seemed to absorb effortlessly into her skin. Dean frowned. Normally they'd wait until they knew she was the monster, and it wasn't like Sam to be jumpy. Sam's hands shook as he aimed the gun again. "Don't worry, Sammy. Your secret's safe with me. For now."

"Don't fucking call him that," Dean growled. Eva gave him a small amused smile.

"Big brother's got teeth."

"Dean," Sam hissed. "Go to the car. Get something that will help- iron, silver- salt- anything-"

"Fuck no. I'm not leaving you alone with-"

"We can't kill her without _something_ to help. Please-"

"You can't kill me at all right now, and won't be able to for hours, so I suggest we all sit down in the living room and have a nice chat. I'm going to offer you a deal." Dean snorted, glancing around for something- anything- maybe they could tie her up, hold her down...

"So what- you want us all to gather around the nice dead body that you killed and kiss and make up? We don't make deals with monsters." Her smile grew.

"Kiss and make up... now there's an idea, huh, Sam? Fine. We'll talk here, then. Here's the deal. Let me go now and I'll leave Little Sammy breathing. I'll leave all that sweetbitter blood pumping through his heart where it is. And I'll leave _quietly_." She winked at Sam. Dean's blood boiled and he tried to step forward. Sam yanked him back. "Hell, I'll leave the country. There's just one more life I need. I promised her." She gestured to the body on the ground. Dean looked at her, his jaw clenched.

"Gotta do one more favor for the woman you just _killed_ , huh?" Eva's eyes seemed to sink just a little into her face, and Dean gulped. Why the fuck hadn't he brought his goddamn shotgun? Salt worked when the bitch was halved. Maybe it would have helped now...

"I made her a promise and I would have kept it. Last night, she tried to bind me to her. She wanted me to be her slave. So I showed her how much of a slave I am. Her blood was good. A whole year of desperate hopeless longing. Of course, nothing compared to yours." Her eyes turned to Sam again, hungry and alien. Dean shoved Sam behind him. 

"Stop lookin' at my fuckin' brother like you're gonna eat him. No deal. No more hearts for you. Not whoever dead chick wanted you to kill, and definitely not Sam. We're gonna stay here, the three of us, until the sun sets and you go half-stack. Then we're gonna salt you and split you into another thousand pieces and bury each piece three miles apart. Get me?" Eva's smile grew an inch wider.

"I 'get' you, Dean Winchester. But if you lose, more will die. I'll slaughter this town and leave you both alive to witness it. I'll eat Sam's still-beating heart while you watch with your last moments of breath. And-" she looked to Sam, eyes narrowing. "I'll be talking the whole time." 

Dean glanced at Sam, who seemed frozen in place. He made a quick hand motion and Sam shook his head, snapping out of it. Together they rushed at the woman, tackling her to the ground. She cackled as Dean grabbed one arm and Sam grabbed the other, pushing her down. Dean shoved a knee into her stomach for good measure, but she didn't even seem to notice. Instead, she locked her eyes on Sam, lunging her face to the side. Her teeth locked into Sam's arm before Dean could stop her, and Sam fell to the ground. 

"Sam," he yelped, letting go of the monster. Eva pulled herself to her feet and darted to the door, giving Dean a last grin. 

"At least the venom still works when I'm whole. I will see you tonight, Dean. Give Sam a kiss for me." 

She ran off. Dean knew he should follow, knew Sam would be okay again in a few minutes, but he couldn't leave his brother laying on the ground unconscious like that. What if he wasn't just unconscious? Dean's head was on Sam's chest before he was aware of moving, and the strong, steady sound of a heartbeat filled his ears. He huffed in relief, but didn't move. Sam was warm, he was alive, and as long as Dean could hear his heartbeat, he would be able to keep himself from panicking. He wasn't sure how long he lay there. It could have been a second, or several minutes. Then Sam jolted into motion, his body snapping upward. Dean tugged back, watching as Sam's head whipped around like it had last time, looking for threats. His wild-eyed gaze settled on Dean, and Dean felt his mouth go dry. That was all the warning he got.

Sam's warm arms wrapped around him, pulling Dean back down on top of Sam. Sam held him tightly, something desperate and hungry in his eyes, but it was Dean who bridged the gap, Dean who leaned down, Dean who pressed his lips against Sam's. Sam's hand ran through his hair, the other one slowly moving lower, brushing across Dean's back until it rested on his ass. Dean should stop this, Sam wasn't in his right mind, Sam would hate him for it, but god, it felt so good that Dean did nothing as Sam groped at his ass, groaning beneath him. Dean breathed in Sam, let the smell of him, the _feel_ of him, overwhelm his senses. And when Sam froze a second later, his face slowly pulling away, wide-eyed and guilty, Dean clutched at his shoulders and muttered, "Please don't stop."

For a moment they just stared at each other. Dean knew he shouldn't have said it- he'd deny saying it to his dying day- but he'd said it. Sam heard him. Sam's eyes were wide and watery and Dean couldn't quite read the emotion there. His brow furrowed, but he didn't move. Then he tugged Dean close and rolled him onto his back, grabbing his ass tighter and groaning. Dean's blood pounded through him, and every nerve seemed to light up as Sam's huge hands stroked across his chest, his back, his neck, his ass, lips finding Dean's every so often. He ran a hand down Sam's back, marveling at just how huge it was, how he could feel every inch of muscle beneath Sam's shirt. Sam's hands both made their way beneath him again, one finding the back of his neck, the other grabbing his ass hard. Dean felt himself go boneless as Sam's lips hit his neck hard, sucking a mark, his hips jerking in rhythm as he grinded up against Dean. 

"Fuck, Sam," he managed to gasp out, his voice breathless and needy. He clutched at Sam's neck as Sam rutted against him, pushing him into the carpet. The friction was incredible. If Sam kept going, he was going to come like a teenager in his clothes, nothing but dry-humping getting him off. That would almost be fine- but he wanted to touch, wanted Sam's bare skin up against his, wanted to feel Sam's cock in his hand once more. He slid a hand between them, fumbling until he grabbed something huge and hard, trapped against him by Sam's jeans. 

"Jesus- it's even bigger in my hand," he murmured. Sam pushed him down and moved off him, and for a second, all the panicked fear returned. Then Sam fumbled with his belt and his jeans fell to the floor, and Dean couldn't do anything but stare. When he finally gathered the strength to pull his gaze back to Sam's face, Sam smirked at him, eyes dark with the hungry expression they'd worn earlier. 

"Get over here and suck my dick," Sam said softly. Dean scrambled over to him, running a hand down his cock. So fucking big and warm, so familiar somehow. Sam loomed above him, gently running a hand through Dean's short hair, guiding his face closer. Dean followed, lifting Sam's dick to his lips. Sam groaned as Dean gave the head an experimental lick. Sam's hands stayed still, letting Dean slowly take more of him. Dean considered himself fairly talented, but he couldn't even get half of Sam into his mouth. The guy was just so huge- he made up for it with his hand, getting into a rhythm. He was so hard it hurt, and every sound Sam made sent a jolt down his spine. Sam tugged his head away, and Dean whimpered in loss, instantly regretting the sound. 

"Wanna touch you," Sam said, tugging at Dean's pants. "C'mere." Dean let Sam pull his pants off, let Sam's hand lead him down to the ground again. Sam kissed him for a moment, then stuck two fingers into his mouth. "Suck." Dean did. God, his stupid bossy little brother- why was it such a turn on right now? He didn't have to think too much, and that was good. Very good. Sam lay down, dragging Dean's lower body toward his face with an arm around Dean's waist. Dean got Sam's cock back in his mouth as Sam's finger played around his rim. He groaned against Sam as Sam slowly pushed the finger inside him. It had been way too goddamn long since someone had done this, and as Sam crooked his finger and pressed against his prostate, he saw white for several seconds. 

"Like that?" Sam asked, voice still dangerously soft. Dean nodded, and Sam slowly worked his other finger in. There was a burn, a little spit wasn't much lube, but the slight pain only added to the overwhelmingness of the whole thing. Sam stretched him out slowly, fucking his fingers in and out of Dean while Dean tried to focus on breathing, around the feel of Sam in his mouth, Sam's fingers in his ass, Sam- fuck, Sam's mouth was on him now, hot and wet, licking inside him while his fingers worked. Dean held Sam's dick in his mouth, jerking him off, remembering exactly how he'd gotten himself off when he was with Sam- Jesus, that's why this was so good. They'd both gotten each other off before. Sam rubbed his prostate with every thrust until Dean was panting and moaning, so close to coming he could taste it. His poor neglected cock hung heavy and untouched.

"Think I could get you off just with this? Just with something in your ass? I tried when I was you. Got close." Dean whined, unwilling to stop sucking Sam long enough to answer. His hips jolted back in rhythm with Sam's fingers, out of his control, and every touch brought him closer. He stroked Sam's huge length. It would feel so good inside him, filling him up, fucking him so deep- "Gonna come in your mouth," Sam promised, and that did it. Dean convulsed as he came, clamping down on Sam's fingers and riding them as his body pulsed with pleasure. Sam groaned, filling Dean's mouth as Dean stroked him, and the taste was primal, so Sam that Dean couldn't stand it. He swallowed hard, gasping as he tried to come back to some semblance of sanity. He wasn't ready to move, wasn't ready to have to look Sam in the eyes and think about what they'd just done. He lay there on top of Sam for a full minute, Sam's fingers still inside him before finally tugging himself away. He forced a grin for Sam as shame washed over him. 

"Well- we ain't ever talking about _that_ ," he said, pulling on his pants. Sam's face fell for just a second before morphing into the guilty look Dean knew was on his own face. 

"Yeah, that- yeah," Sam said. They left the house together, avoiding looking at each other or the dead body they'd just basically fucked in front of. Dean slid into the car. If he hadn't been the most fucked-up awful person in the world before today, he definitely was now.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean looked straight ahead at the road. They'd driven around the tiny downtown area three times, and Dean wasn't quite sure why, but he sure as hell knew he wasn't gonna be alone in a motel room with Sam right now. And he wasn't letting Sam go out alone either, not with a psychotic killer monster after him. So they drove around in silence, a pointless exercise that wasn't making Dean feel any damn better about having taken advantage of his brother. _Again_. Worse this time, so much worse. His drugged-up brother who didn't know what the hell he was doing. Wasn't Sam's fault Dean was sick in the head. And now a monster was after Sam and Sam was probably going to freak out and leave, and Dean had to keep him in the goddamn car so he didn't run off on his own. 

"Uh- Dean?" Sam asked when they passed the library for the forth time. "Shouldn't we start looking for the manananggal?"

"We are," Dean snapped, turning down Main Street again. Sam shifted beside him.

"So... we think she's just gonna be- what, casually walking by the library? Waiting for us to drive by?"

"Shut up, Sam."

"I'm just saying-" 

"Shut up, Sam." Sam shut up for maybe thirty seconds, his jaw going stiff and his brows drawing together.

"We need to work the case."

"We're working the goddamn case."

"Then pull over and let's come up with a plan."

"No." Dean gripped the wheel tightly just to have something to hold onto. He couldn't stop. If he stopped, he'd have to think. And like fucking hell that was happening right now. Sam grabbed the steering wheel and jerked them down a side street, and Dean had to slam on the breaks to avoid hitting a jaywalker. "What the _hell_ , Sam?"

"Pull over," Sam repeated. Dean scowled at him, but parked, shutting off the car before Sam could do any damage to his Baby.

"What?" he snarled. Sam let go of the steering wheel and glared at Dean. 

"What the fuck do you mean what? You've been driving around looking like you're about to murder someone for an hour, you won't look at me, you won't talk about the case- we need to figure this out or more people are going to die."

"You think I don't fucking know that? You think I want you to- Jesus, Sam, I'm trying to figure it out. That's what I've been doing." Sam raised an eyebrow. 

"Really? That's what you've been doing?"

"Yes, dickhole. I'm trying to think. I'm not gonna let your stupid ass get eaten, alright? I promise." Sam huffed.

"Good. Then stop freaking out and let's talk this through. Where did you meet her when you slept with her?"

"Uh- like a garage-apartment place. Shitty, probably low rent. Probably not hers- oh Jesus, you think I almost hooked up with her at someone she was feeding off's place?" Sam frowned.

"Almost?"

"Focus!"

"Er- I don't know. I mean, does she kill everyone she feeds from? I don't think she does- so maybe? You think she'd go back there?"

"Definitely worth checking it out. But she knows I know about it." 

"Okay. Cool. At least we have something to do besides driving around brooding."

"I wasn't- dammit, Sam," he said, scowling. He broke his own rule, unable to keep the question in his mouth. "How are you _not_ freaking out about this?"

"I'm saving it for when we have time to freak out." Dean nodded, glancing away. "Dean. It happened- it wasn't your fault. Probably just- just like you said before, the monster and the- the being in each others' bodies thing. It was confusing."

"Yeah," Dean huffed. Sam tilted his head. 

"Thought you didn't want to talk about it."

"I really fucking do _not_ want to talk about it." Sam shot him a speculative glance, then looked away. 

"Good. Then let's go."

The apartment was empty, but it was good to have a destination, to be out of the Impala for a few minutes. He tore the bed apart and went through the dresser, avoiding Sam's gaze. 

"This is a dude's place. Look," Dean said, holding up a handful of boxers. He realized what he was holding and dropped them, slamming the drawer shut for good measure. "Think she killed somebody else they ain't found yet?"

"Maybe," Sam said slowly. "I don't know how else she'd use their place without getting caught. And that's another thing- why was she going to sleep with you?" Dean frowned.

"I'm very fuckable."

"Okay- fine-" Sam said, shrugging. Dean grinned. "But she's a monster that feeds off- what- love or some shit?"

"Pretty sure it's just blood she feeds on, Sammy."

"Whatever- why was she looking for a hookup in the same town she's feeding off?" Dean thought about it, sitting on the thin mattress. Sam sat beside him, way too fucking close after what they'd done. Dean shot him a look, but mostly ignored it. 

"Because she's cocky. And horny. And thought she could get away with it. Thought it wouldn't matter if people saw her," Dean said

"So she's arrogant. That's why she took you here, too. Arrogant- that's good, that'll make her easier to kill." Dean chewed his bottom lip. The pricks of pain helped focus him, helped keep his mind off the fact that Sam was close enough to turn and kiss him right now. Not that Dean wanted him to. "So who do you think she's after? This 'last target' our dead girl told her to kill?"

"Has to be the guy that left her at the altar, right? Vera's fiancé?" Sam nodded, clapping Dean on the thigh. Dean swallowed hard.

"Dammit, yea. Why didn't I think of that?" 

"Guess I stole some of your brains when we swapped." Sam's hand didn't move. Goddammit, why wasn't Sam's hand moving? His body reacted against his will, his skin feeling hot where Sam touched him, heart-rate speeding up. He was one sick fucker. To Sam, it was just a casual brotherly touch. To Dean, at least right now, it felt like foreplay. He stood, brushing Sam's hand away as gently as he could. "C'mon. We better go have a talk with Mr. Carl Livingston."

Carl Livingston was just about exactly what Dean had expected. Tall, pretty, big wide smile and open 'honest' eyes. He looked like an over-grown frat boy. Dean disliked him on instinct. But he supposed frat boys, as a group, didn't deserve to die any more than the other people he saved, so he forced a tight-lipped smile onto his face. 

"Mr. Livingston, I'm guessing," he said, flipping his badge and thrusting it into the man's face. "Agent Buckingham. Giant's Agent McVie. We need to speak to you about the death of your fiancé." Livingston's smile faded. 

"Police already talked to me about Vera. I've been cleared." 

"Don't worry, sir, you're not a suspect," Dean said. Sam shifted beside him.

"We're here for your protection, Mr. Livingston." 

Carl gave Dean a suspicious look, but he sized up Sam and stepped aside, leading the way into the house. Sam and Dean were forced to share a couch again, but this one at least had room for Dean to spread his legs without touching his massive brother. That was good. Carl glanced around.

"Can I get you something to drink? Water, beer-"

"We're good, thanks," Sam said before Dean could interject. Livingston sat across from them, expectant. "So. How can I help you?"

"We're here because we received information that whoever murdered Vera might come after you next," Sam said, his voice the low-calming-victim voice he could pull off so well. "And we're here to do whatever we can to keep you safe. But we need to know- did the two of you have any enemies? Anyone who might want to hurt you?"

"No," the guy said slowly, his eyes darting between them. 

"What can you tell us about Angelique Moreau?" Dean asked, careful smile on his face. Livingston paled, eyes darting once again between Sam, Dean, and the door. 

"I- she's my ex."

"Right. Is there any reason why she might have a grudge against you?" Dean asked, forcing his smile to widen. Livingston looked like he was about to bolt. He wouldn't. He'd spill instead. 

"Things didn't... they didn't end well. I was- We were going to get married. I had doubts for a while, and I- well, I'm not proud of it, but I decided I couldn't do it. At the last minute." Dean raised an eyebrow and waited. Livingston shifted. "I didn't show up at the church the day of the wedding. She found me that night. I wouldn't let her in the room, I couldn't. She was acting crazy, crying and screaming and- and just carrying on like-"

"Like someone who got left at the altar by a man she loved," Sam said, rolling his eyes at Dean. Livingston's face twisted again. 

"Anyways. She said- it was something like 'You'll regret this. When you think you have everything you want, I'll be there to take it from you and watch you burn.' I just thought she was upset. But she couldn't have done- Vera died with her heart ripped out. Angelique's small. She couldn't have done something like that."

"You'd be surprised what people are capable of."

"Why aren't you going to arrest her? Why are you here with me instead?" Sam glanced at Dean.

"We don't know where she is. So until our colleagues find her, we're your protection team." Livingston didn't look happy about it. Dean didn't blame him. A scorned 5'3 woman didn't exactly seem like a big threat. If only this guy had any idea what they were really dealing with. He'd be thanking Dean and Sam on his knees. 

"Fine. So how does this work?"

"We stay here, you go about your day how you normally would. From _inside_ this house. And we make sure you don't get ganked."

" _Ganked_?" Livingston asked, looking scandalized. Sam shot Dean a pretty impressive glare as Dean cursed himself. 

"Uh- hurt. Sorry- our lingo for hurt." Really? That was the best explanation for the slip he could think of? 

"Okay," Livingston said, not looking convinced. "I need to shower. And work. You two- you'll just stay down here and make sure nothing happens?"

"Affirmative," Dean said. Dammit, FBI agents didn't say that either. He was all out of sorts right now, probably something to do with practically fucking his brother. But Livingston didn't react to that one. He gave them a last wary glance, then headed up the stairs. Sam's gaze on Dean was downright painful.

"What?" Dean asked innocently.

"Ganked? _Affirmative_? I've never seen you this off, Dean," Sam said. His eyes were too damn shrewd, too penetrating, like he could see through Dean's skull and read every single one of the inappropriate, fucked-up thoughts currently lurking there. Dean gulped.

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine."

"I said I'm fucking fine, Sam. Jesus." Sam's eyes narrowed another fraction of an inch, and Dean looked away. If Sam knew what he was thinking... "We need to come up with a plan. Top-half might be comin' here but I'm guessing ass-half's gonna be squirreled away somewhere safe. Bobby said we gotta kill the bottom half before we'll even be able to touch the top half."

"Okay," Sam said evenly. His eyes still focused far too intently on Dean, and Dean scowled at him until he looked away. "So one of us needs to go take care of the bottom half, the other stays with Livingston."

"Like fucking _Hell_ I'm leaving you alone right now. You heard half-Angelus. She's got a hard-on for your blood and she wants to drink it straight from your heart."

"Dude, you gotta stop watching Buffy. I swear, half your references lately-"

"What's wrong with Buffy?" Sam grinned at him, the first real grin since- well, since the thing Dean absolutely would not think about right now. It was such a relief to see that Dean grinned back, unable to help himself. "And why you gotta be hatin' on my references? You're such a Cordelia."

"Hey- if anything, I'm a Willow. Ya know, the smart one of the group?" Dean shrugged.

"Okay, okay, I buy Willow. What does that make me? Tara?" Sam looked surprised and Dean bit his tongue. Why the fuck had he said _that_? He threw in a few half-hearted chuckles. Sam's expression changed into a wicked grin, though. 

"Xander." 

"You take that back." He punched Sam's arm, and Sam grabbed his wrist, neatly turning it until Dean yelped with pain. "Asshat."

"Jerk." Sam released him, and Dean rubbed at his wrist, unable to stop himself from grinning. Normal was good. So good it made him shiver. Things would be okay, if he just acted like a normal fucking person until Sam forgot what had happened. 

"I mean it, though. I ain't leaving you alone while this bitch is after you." Sam sighed. 

"Dean-"

"This ain't a fuckin' debate club. I'm not doing it." 

Sam's eyes lasered in on his again, unreadable. Once this was all over, Dean knew he'd have to ask, knew just for appearances and because Sam was his brother and a hundred other reasons that he'd have to ask about the mysterious Stanford guy Sam was pining after. The reason this stupid monster was after him to begin with. The truth was, he didn't want to know. He wasn't sure why, he just knew thinking about Sam hopelessly in love with some stranger, to the point where a goddamn half-vamp freak lusted after his blood, made Dean's own blood boil. He shoved his thoughts back into his head where they belonged. 

"Fine. So what do you propose we do, then? Drag Livingston around looking for the vamp's back half while the front half chases us? Something out of Scooby Doo?" Dean frowned, thinking about it.

"We may have to-" He paused, a slow smile curling at his lips. "I've got an idea."

They set up in the front room while Livingston did whatever the fuck he was doing upstairs. Salt ring around the perimeter- that probably wouldn't do anything, but it was worth a shot. Everything else, though. That's what they were betting on. It took them two hours to get everything ready, or at least somewhat ready, and by the time they finished, the sun was down and the sky was darkening. 

"Are you sure about this?" Sam asked. Dean shrugged. 

"Got any better ideas?" Sam shook his head. 

"Better hope this works. Because if not, all three of us are massively screwed."

"And not in a fun way," Dean added before he could help himself. Sam's expression shifted to something Dean quite read- low eyes, eyebrows closer together, lips slightly apart- then back to normal. "Alright. Let's go get the bait."

They lured Livingston into the living room on the pretense of questioning him again, then tied him to to the couch and propped him up so the back of his head was visible through the window. Dean gagged him with a sock for good measure. 

"Don't worry, buddy. We're gonna make sure you make it out of this in one piece. This is the only way I save you and my brother without leavin' him, though, so just- just hang tight. We'll save your ass." They better. Dean wasn't sure how he felt about tying up a relatively innocent dude to use for bait, but fuck, if it saved Sammy, he'd do it a hundred times over. Sam looked at him, lips pressed together and eyebrows drawn tight.

"I don't like it."

"I know you don't. But trust me. This is the best shot we have." They retreated to the next room, tools in hand as they waited. They stayed there for hours, silent, the only light on in the house the one in the living room. Livingston occasionally tried to shout insults at them or plead to be let go. Dean's guilt grew uncomfortably thick, but he pushed it down. The guy would be fine. A little light traumatic kidnapping? He'd get over it. Probably. 

Finally, the sound of flapping wings hit the room. The window behind Livingston slowly slid open, an inch at a time, and a dark gray hand, maybe rotting flesh, slipped into the room. The rest of the bat-like creature fell into the room, its wings unfolding and giving a few experimental flaps as its unseeing eye sockets whirled around the room. Slowly, the woman flapped around the room, entrails swinging wildly, dripping with dark red liquid. Dean felt his stomach turn. They'd expected this. She'd suspect a trap, but he was counting on her thinking they were scared enough of losing Sam to offer up Livingston. 

Sam shot him a questioning look and Dean shook his head, hand on the net, eyes on the beast. She needed to start feeding, needed to be so distracted that they'd have a chance... It took a few minutes. Livingston quaked on the couch, muttering and pleading, and Dean forced himself not to think about it. This way they saved the guy's life. It'd be better for him in the long run. Finally, the monster tugged the sock out of the man's mouth, its long proboscis shoving into Livingston's throat. He gagged and struggled for a moment, then went still. Dean signaled. 

Together, they rushed forward, flinging the heavy iron net over the creature and pulling it off of Livingston. Eva let out an unholy screech, instantly clawing at them as they closed the net, avoiding her sharp talons. Eva kept screeching as Dean held on to the thick chain at the end of the net for dear life as the beast struggled and flapped its wings, the net rising with her as she tried to fly off. She screamed again. 

"Fuck, I was hoping it would burn her. This won't hold forever," Dean muttered. Sam glanced up from where he was untying Livingston. 

"Then we better hurry." Livingston startled awake, and Dean half-expected him to start kissing Sam. Instead, the man punched his brother square in the jaw. "Shit," Sam muttered.

"You fucker!" Dean called, seeing red. He tried to focus on the goddamn net, on holding the beast back, ignoring the awful screeching sounds that rang through the room. 

"It's fine, Dean. Lack of inhibitions, remember? It's fine," Sam said, rubbing his jaw. He gave Livingston a forced grin. "If you could wait- like- two hours to call the cops? That'd be great. We gotta go kill this thing." Livingston's eyes grew wide and awareness returned to them. He nodded slowly. Dean dragged the screaming monster out to the car, then handed the chain to Sam. 

"Can you hold her while I drive?" Sam nodded, easily lifting the heavy net and the creature. Dean tried not to look at the muscles in his arms. Jesus Christ, it wasn't the time for that. It was never the time for that, but right now- definitely not. He jumped in the front seat and hit the gas. The car went eerily silent for a long moment, then Eva cackled, voice terrifyingly deep. 

"You don't even know where you should be going," she said in a raspy voice, so different from the one they'd heard hours before. Dean gritted his teeth, speeding up another few miles an hour. Sam dodged backward to avoid her sharp claws. 

"You made it obvious. Your ass is back at the old farmhouse," he said, wondering if he sounded like a supervillain giving up his plans before they were complete. Eva went quiet.

"Alright, let me go now and I'll leave. I won't bother Livingston." Dean pulled up to the farmhouse. Sam got out first, letting the monster drop to the ground. They headed for the house. The manananggal flapped, lifting herself a few inches from the ground. "Let me go now and I won't tell Dean," she said, looking straight at Sam. Dean rolled his eyes. 

"You really think I care about my brother lusting after some college dude? Sammy can fuck whoever he wants- love who he wants- I ain't a bigot." He threw the door open, and Sam followed, roughly tugging at the net so Eva hit the step on the way in. 

"Shut the fuck up or you die slow and painful," Sam growled. Eva cackled.

"He really is an idiot, isn't he? I mean- someone could look at you and figure it out, Sammy."

"Don't fuckin' call him that," Dean growled. He tilted his head toward the stairs. Sam nodded, his face pale and drawn. 

"Last chance. Let me go," Eva said. Sam tugged her up the stairs. He looked sick. He didn't look at Dean or the manananggal. Dean entered the bedroom, grinning in triumph at the humanoid torso standing in the middle of the room, sawed off and bloody.

"Predictable bitch. Thought we wouldn't come back here." He tugged the salt from his bag and liberally pouring it all over the separated body. The monster screamed in pain and rage, flapping around the net. Dean took a deep breath. "Kay. Now the other half."

"It's you, you gigantic fucking halfwit!" Eva yelled, rattling around in the net. Dean froze. 

"What?"

"It's you! You fucking moron! For years, based on the taste of him, little Sammy's been lusting after his older brother. Loves you in _way_ too many ways, the fucked up little shit. He wants to fuck you-"

"Shut the fuck up," Sam said, his voice anguished, eyes watery and narrow. Dean only had to look at him. He felt paralyzed. He couldn't say anything, couldn't help, he was stuck. He couldn't think either, thank god. Sam pulled out his long, jagged knife, fumbling with the net.

"He wants to fuck you, Dean. Wants to have you in every terrible dirty way- wants his own brother on his knees for him. He thinks about it every day." Dean tried to swallow. His throat was dry. Sam still fumbled with the net, his hands were shaky, he looked straight ahead, wouldn't look at Dean- the manananggal flew out a hole in the top, lunging down at Sam. Dean moved fast, pushing Sam out of the way. Something impossibly heavy hit his head- sharp nails raked across his scalp, his face, his neck- the world grew dim- Sam was safe- please, god, let Sammy be safe-

"Dean!" 

Sam's voice rang out, piercing through the fog in his head. He was vaguely aware of falling, vaguely aware that the side of his head felt wet, but there wasn't any pain. He watched, dreamlike, as the top half of the manananggal hit the ground inches from him- no head. That was funny- then the ground rushed up and took him too, hard enough that he'd have bruises tomorrow. If he lived through tonight. He giggled at that thought. Sam's eyes swam in front of his face- pretty, so fucking pretty- gigantic puppy dog eyes that seemed to glow at the watery edges. Sam's hands were on his cheeks, so warm- his skin was cold. That was bad. Real bad. He was probably bleeding out- but he couldn't bring himself to care too much because Sam- Sam was right there touching him, looking at him like he was the whole world. He reached out a shaking hand, forcing his muscles to work. His fingertips brushed across Sam's hair, and Dean thought if he died right now, he'd be happy. Strong arms lifted him, wrapping around him, almost too-hot. His mind swam, edges of the world growing blurred and dark. The last thing he saw was hazel staring down at him. The world faded to comfortable black.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean woke up in a hotel bed with his mouth dry. He groggily fumbled around, trying to get his eyes to open. A hand gently grabbed both of his wrists and pushed them back to his chest. He struggled for a second before recognizing the warm, huge hand. 

"Heya, Sammy," he murmured, not quite able to open his eyes yet.

"Hey, Dean," Sam's voice said. He sounded hoarse, like he'd been yelling or something. His hand squeezed Dean's wrists lightly. "How you feeling?" Dean tried to move his head and instantly regretted it. He winced, and Sam's grip grew tighter.

"Uh- 'Mokay," he lied. "Sammy- what happened? My head-"

"Yeah, she knocked you pretty hard. You lost some blood too. You woke up a few times but you seemed pretty out of it, so I thought I'd wake you occasionally to make sure you were okay. I almost took you to the hospital."

"Hospital- nah, I'm fine. Wanted in this area."

"I know- but better that than you, ya know, dying." Dean snorted, finally forcing his eyelids to flutter. He blinked into the too-bright dim hotel light. He grimaced. 

"Right now? Don't know about that." He was too dizzy to keep his eyes open, so he shut them again, grasping Sam's hand in his own. 

"About what the manananggal said-"

"Sam- let's not, right now, okay? My head- can we just- Just c'mere. I'm cold." He tugged at Sam's hand. Sam froze. Dean tugged harder. "Please- just- just for now, okay? For a few minutes?" He was too tired- too groggy to care that he was asking for something definitely not okay. Something that would probably freak Sam out. Right now he just needed Sam's huge warm body pressed against him. 

Sam slid onto the bed and gently turned Dean to his side. Dean shivered at Sam's touch. Right now, it was everything he needed, comforting and something maybe a little more than that he wasn't going to think about once his mind was clear. He scooted back until his ass was pressed into Sam's crotch, his back firmly against Sam's stomach. Sam's arm snaked beneath his waist and the bed, and his other one lay over Dean's stomach. Sam pulled Dean tight against him, and Dean let out a contented sigh. He was loopy enough to just enjoy this, loopy enough that he didn't need to think too hard about what it meant. Sam was curled around him, comforting and something deeper, something warmer, beneath the comfort. Dean smiled and clutched at Sam's hands until Sam's fingers moved to intertwine with his. Dean smiled, the pain fading.

"My Sammy," he whispered, barely conscious of saying it.

"Night, Dean," Sam whispered. 

When he woke, Sam was still curled around him, snoring slightly into his neck. Sam's breath tickled his skin, and he shivered, pushing his body back against Sam's. His head still hurt like hell and he felt a little nauseous. But he was warm and safe and Sam's arms were strong around him. He should move. He should blame being so needy last night on the drugs and head injury. And then he should never mention anything related to what the manananggal had said again, never bring it up or even think about it because- because a million reasons, number one being incest. But for now- for now he wouldn't move if every hellhound in hell tried to drag him away. Sam stirred behind him, and Dean tightened his grip unconsciously. 

"Hey," Sam said, voice heavy with sleep. Dean breathed in the smell of him, the feeling of being held like this. 

"Hey," he repeated. Talking was bad. Talking meant this was about to end. He braced himself for it. Sam didn't move.

"How you feeling?" Dean shrugged.

"I've had worse." Sam sighed. 

"Not what I asked. C'mon." Dean groaned. 

"'M okay. Not like run a marathon okay, but I'm okay."

"Well you've definitely got a concussion. We need to monitor you for blood loss too. You should definitely at least take B12 for a few weeks. And iron."

"Okay, mom." He felt Sam's exasperated sigh at the base of his neck. 

"Don't be a bitch about this." Dean scowled. He needed to move. Really needed to move. He could feel his brother's erection against his ass, and he'd corrupted Sam somehow to the point Sam didn't mind. He was the one who'd done this, it was his job to end it. And he would. Just- not quite this second.

"Nice job with the monster," he said after a moment. "Takin' it out and saving my ass and shit."

"Somebody's got to. That was stupid, by the way. Jumping in front of me like that?"

"No it wasn't," Dean said. Sam sighed again, then pulled away. He moved off the bed and sat beside it, staring at Dean with his huge worried eyes. Dean gritted his teeth, back feeling empty and cold. "We ain't talkin' about it," he muttered before Sam could say anything.

"We-we have to talk about it. I have to explain," Sam said, stubborn tilt to his jaw as he stared Dean down. Stupid Sammy and his stupid puppy-dog eyes. He grunted and waited. "I- what she said- I didn't- you have to know I never meant to- and it doesn't mean anything. Okay? I'd never act- I'd never do anything to-" Sam stopped, running a hand through his shaggy hair. "I'd never do _anything_."

"How long?" Dean managed to get out. His voice didn't sound like his own. Sam flinched. 

"I- before Stanford. But not long before."

"And you never- you never said anything-"

"What the hell was I supposed to say, Dean? Hi, your freak younger brother who already has a hundred other issues is also fucking _in love_ with you?" Dean flinched at the pain in Sam's voice. Sam's eyes hardened. "Yeah. You'd give me a look just like that one. Or worse- if it would have made me stay, I was scared you'd go along with it. Force yourself to- Jesus. And I might have let you. How fucked up is that? Because I know you'd never- I know, alright? So-"

"So you've been bottling this up for god-knows how long? You with your-your stupid feelings shit-" Dean frowned as he realized. "You told that fucking Lillian bitch before you told me. That's why she thinks I'm just your friend."

"Yeah, I- I had to talk to someone about it, and it sure as hell wasn't gonna be Jess. So- we got close, and yeah, I told her."

"Before me? Are you fucking-" Dean scowled, trying to sit up and instantly regretting it as his head exploded in pain. He clenched his teeth together and let Sam gently push him back down. It took a few moments for the black to fade from his vision once more. He clutched at Sam's hand so hard it hurt. "What else does she know that I don't?" Dean asked doggedly. Sam sighed.

"Nothing-"

"Really? Cus she seems to know just about everything about you." Sam rubbed his forehead.

"Why are you getting so hung up over Lilly? I mean the rest of this shit-"

"Because you fucking told her everything and lied to me-"

"I didn't lie-"

"Hid shit from me, then. I mean fuck, man, we're partners. We're out here hunting shit together every day. And you're keeping secrets like that from me." Sam let out a humorless snort.

"Are you kidding? Dean, you would have freaked out if you knew. And telling you wouldn't change anything. I'd never- _ever_ -"

"What does it even mean?" Dean asked before he could stop himself. His skin felt hot, and he was still angry- so angry- without quite being able to place why. "You're in love with me? What- so you want to run away with me and live some apple pie life off in some suburban nightmare? Want me to wear a white fuckin' dress and meet you at the altar?" Sam's face was pale and drawn. He didn't speak. "Is that what you fucking mean, Sam?"

"It doesn't mean anything," Sam said, his voice flat. "And I wish you didn't know. I'm sorry that you do. I really am. I don't know if you can- if you can forget it- if you want me to leave-"

"No," Dean said quickly. Sam's eyes finally met his and it just about broke Dean's heart. Sam looked so sad, so ashamed of himself that Dean's anger, at least for the moment, faded. "No, Sam, I don't want you to leave." 

And Christ, of course he didn't. What he really wanted was to stop having this conversation, for his head to stop feeling like a crushed melon, for Sam's warm body to be pressed against his once more the way it was when he'd first woken up, sleepy, uncomplicated, warm, every day until he died. But it dawned all him all at once what he'd have to do. He'd have to put his stupid fucking selfishness aside, just as soon as he could sit up without seeing black.

"You got any whiskey?" he asked. Sam startled.

"Uh- yeah and pain killers. Maybe you should start with those." Dean thought about it.

"We got anywhere to be today? Bobby knows we're good?"

"Yeah, called him last night, as soon as I was sure you were okay. He says you're an idiot too, by the way. You can't always be pulling that hero stuff-"

"Don't keep gettin' in the way of monsters trying to kill you and I won't have to." He forced a smile. Sam's face stayed strained and drawn. "C'mon, asshole. Bring me the drugs and do em with me. Let's just forget about this, okay? Nothing has to change. You're still my obnoxious younger brother. Nothing is ever gonna change that." But everything had changed. Dean's words sounded hollow to his own ears. He swallowed a few pills and washed them down with whiskey, staring up at the ceiling. Sam was a silent worrying presence beside him.

"Sam. C'mon, find us something shitty to watch and let's just- let's just be normal, alright? You're confused. It's fine. Just- find us something to watch, okay?" Dean asked, his voice already slurring at the ends of words. The pain slowly faded until it was a dull ache, and by Dean's standards, nothing. Sam fumbled with the TV remote, and Dean patted the bed next to him. He couldn't help himself. Sam hesitated, then sat beside him, six inches or so away. Dean rolled his eyes. "C'mon, asshat, you shoved a buttplug up my ass. While you still thought you loved me or whatever. You can sit a little closer." Sam's eyes widened. 

"No-that- it was _my_ ass at the time," Sam stuttered. He drew closer to Dean though, and in Dean's mellowed-out state, he was achey and tired and he just wanted to be close to Sam. He flopped onto his side, wincing as his head twinged, then lay himself on top of Sam. His head landed on Sam's chest, painful side up, and his arm flopped onto Sam's stomach. Sam's body froze, every muscle taut. Then he relaxed, arms wrapping gingerly around Dean. "Ya know, keep getting hurt and drugged up, people are going to start thinking you like cuddles."

"Fuck off, Sam," Dean muttered, eyes locked on whatever shitty movie was playing.

Sam's hand gently ran across his back, and Dean leaned into the touch. It felt incredible right now. Sam felt good, steady and warm and huge. And this cuddling thing was definitely giving him the wrong idea. Poor guy was confused as it was (Dean's fault) and here Dean was, throwing himself on top of his brother like it was normal (also Dean's fault). But right now, Dean was going to let himself be selfish. If only for a day. Because all of this was his fault, and there was only one way he could fix it. But not yet. He gripped Sam tighter, his cheek pressing a little harder into Sam's chest. For today, there was only one thing to do: get lit and cling on to Sam for as long as he could. Because in the end? Sam had tricked himself into thinking he felt weird shit because _Dean_ felt weird shit. Sam had been corrupted by Dean being weird and wrong, even before he knew he was doing it. There was only one way to fix things. 

Dean let Sam baby him all day. Sam brought them both diner food for lunch, complete with a slice of cherry pie for Dean, but Dean couldn't choke down much of it. He felt heavy, sad, and for once, not like eating. Sam seemed to catch his mood, and didn't do anything but grimace and make Dean drink water when Dean kept hitting the whiskey bottle. By the time Dean had choked down a few bites of cheap Chinese food that night, he felt a little better. He couldn't seem to stop touching Sam. That was okay. For just tonight, it was okay. He curled up under the blankets, letting Sam wrap around him. 

"You're going to be so pissed at me tomorrow for letting you act like a girl all day," Sam said. Dean didn't bother trying to lift his head this time. Pain was slowly but surely teaching him.

"That's sexist," he mumbled.

"Well, it's what _you're_ gonna say. Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay? You seem... you seem kinda off. I mean more than being hurt." 

"Yeah, I'm good," Dean said. It was almost true. If he could just forget about tomorrow and the next day and every day after that, he'd be just fine. Sam's arms tightened around him and he closed his eyes. For tonight, he could have this without feeling guilty. Just for tonight. He fell asleep on Sam's chest and woke up with a hangover and a heavy heart. 

He tried to scoot out of Sam's arms without Sam noticing, but Sam just grunted sleepily and tugged him closer. Dean sighed, trying to be annoyed by it. He had the headache of all headaches, but judging by the feel of it, it was more hangover than concussion. If he took it relatively easy for the next few days, he'd be fine. Maybe he could have this just a minute longer. His body melted against Sam before he could stop himself, and he breathed in the smell of old books and something he couldn't name, something distinctly _Sam_. Maybe in some other world- a world where they weren't brothers, where there weren't monsters, where life was easy- they could have had this. But of fucking course they couldn't. Only reason Sam wanted him at all was Dean's fucked-up codependence that had been poisoning him for years. 

Dean sighed and pulled away more firmly this time, wincing as he stood and his vision blurred for a moment. He stayed still, gripping the bed until his eyes cleared and the dizziness faded. Then he started packing. It didn't take long. Most of his shit was already together. Only left the weapons in the back of the Impala. He'd take a few, leave Sammy the rest; after all, he'd have more luck getting more. He felt Sam's eyes on him before he turned around. 

"What're you doing?" Sam asked flatly. Dean looked at Sam, his eyes still lidded with sleep, wary and full of the same shame they'd held most of the day before. Dean made him look that way, shameful and guilty. Dean made him unhappy. He steeled himself.

"I was gonna leave a note-" he started, awkwardly running a hand through his short hair. He grimaced as he brushed against the bruised lump on his head. Sam waited, his eyes piercing, arms crossing as he sat up. "I'm leavin'."

"Like- to get breakfast, or-?" Sam's voice was bitingly sarcastic, and Dean struggled to meet his gaze. 

"No."

"So you don't want me to leave. _You_ want to leave." Dean clenched his hands into fists at his sides. 

"I _gotta_ leave. That's the only way this ends okay for us. I gotta go, Sam." Sam let out a humorless laugh and stood, his hands meeting at his stomach and wringing at each other. 

"What's your genius plan? That we just never see each other again? We're brothers. When I was talking about leaving, I meant for a little while. Just to- so you could clear your head." Dean swallowed hard, hands clenching and unclenching. Looking at Sam hurt.

"Well you should have fucking thought of that before you made shit weird." That wasn't fair. Cruel deep dig and it wasn't even true, but Dean's vision was red, and he was so damn angry. He wasn't even sure who he was angry at. Not Sam. Sam was in the way. But Sam's face barely changed. Sam took a step toward him and Dean held his ground, blood pounding in his ears. Sam stopped only a few inches away and looked down at him.

"Is this really what you want?" Dean swallowed hard and forced himself to nod.

"It's how it's gotta be. If you ever want to have a chance at being- kind of normal? If- it's how this has to go." Sam nodded back, his eyes even huger than usual. 

"And if I don't want to be normal? If I don't care that-"

"This-" Dean gestured between them. "This can never happen. Whatever fucked-up shit we've had going on between us since we swapped- what you think you feel- And I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry it hurts, man. I know I did this and it's my fucking fault, and the only way for me to fix it is to-" Sam kissed him, and he forgot what he was going to say. 

Sam kissed him with a sort of soft desperation, gentler than he'd been before. Dean kissed back. There was nothing else he could do, nothing but let Sam's hand wrap around his waist, pull him tighter, let Sam's lips move against his in a rhythm that should have been unfamiliar but somehow Dean felt he'd known it his whole life. He kissed Sam back until he knew if he stayed another moment, he'd never leave. Then he pushed back, breathless and shaky. Sam's eyes were dark and wide, and that edge of desperation was still there.

"Dean- you feel it too. You want this. That's why you're leaving." Dean turned away, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

"Doesn't fuckin' matter what I feel. You'n me? It can't happen, Sam. And trust me. You're better off." Sam's hand landed heavy on his shoulder.

"Can we at least-"

"No. Look, Sam- you want a normal life, right? It's all you've ever wanted. I'll get with Bobby, keep huntin'. You- you can go off and-" He swallowed hard. Even the thought felt like a sword through his stomach. "Marry some sweet girl, do the picket fence apple-pie life. And we'll be fine." Sam's hand fell. Dean couldn't look at him. "You'll be fine. I'll have Bobby check in. Later." Jesus, he was barely holding it together. He needed to get out _now._ Sam couldn't see him break down. He was gonna hold it together and stay strong for Sam and get the fuck out of the room. 

"Dean," Sam said softly. Dean couldn't turn. "Please-" Dean steeled his nerve, digging the Impala keys out of his pocket. He looked at Sam, who definitely had tears in his eyes, and pressed the keys into his palm. 

"Take care of her, alright?" Sam shook his head and held the keys out back to him.

"I'm not taking-"

"I need you to take her," Dean said, his voice low and rough. Sam's arms slowly lowered. "Take care, Sam." Sam started to say something, but Dean didn't hear. He was already out the door, shutting it gently behind himself. He set off in search of the nearest liquor store. First order of business was to stop _feeling_ so goddamn much. And the second was to find a bus. He cast a last look back at the motel room. Sam didn't try to follow him. Good. Fine. In the end, Sam was better off on his own.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean sat in the back of the RTD, a brown bag over his bottle of Evan Williams. He took another long pull and grimaced, swallowing hard. He'd forgotten how much he hated Evan Williams. The burn was nice, though. It kept his thoughts from getting too close. Sort of. He kept seeing Sammy's face, the look of hurt betrayal there. Dean wasn't the one that was supposed to leave. Sam left. Dean lived his life in a kind of limbo until he got back. Dean waited, he was a constant, the only constant Sam had ever had. And now he'd left. All he wanted to do was turn right around, go back, beg Sam to let him stay- but his number one job was what it always had been. Look out for Sammy. This was the only way to look out for Sammy. He took another few drinks, jolting unpleasantly and spilling a few splashes all over his chest as the bus hit a bump. Someone beside him chuckled, and Dean scowled at them, blood rising to his head.

"You got a problem?" he asked. The laugher- an older woman with stringy greasy hair, alcoholic-yellow skin, and shockingly bright eyes- gave him a disarming grin. 

"No problem, kid. Steal a pull off that bottle, though, if ya don't mind." Dean scrutinized her then sighed, passing the bottle across the aisle. She took a small drink, then passed it back. "Been where you are, ya know."

"Where'm I?" Dean asked, frowning warily as he took another sip. 

"Pissed off. To cover up being upset. Drunk on a northbound bus. In Kansas. Take your pick." Dean grunted, passing her the bottle again. "Vivian."

"Dean. You lookin' to get drunk on a northbound bus again? Could use the company," he admitted. The last thing he needed right now was to be alone with his thoughts- thoughts of Sam touching him, Sam pushing him against a wall, Sam's last hurt look. The woman took another swig, grimacing.

"Takes a lot to get me drunk. How much time you got?"

"Dunno," Dean said.

"Where you headed?"

"Don't know that either." The woman laughed again, and this time Dean snorted with her. 

"On a bender?"

"Hopin' to be. Nowhere to be, nothin' to do for a bit. So- good enough time for it. I like to plan out my dysfunction a little. You?" The woman shook her head.

"Stay away from that these days. I'm going to see my grandkids in Omaha." Dean eyed her more carefully.

"No shit? No offense, you don't look like the kinda lady who'd have kids."

"And you're too pretty to be sittin' alone looking that upset. We all got our hidden depths." The woman gave him a mischievous look and fumbled with her bag. The smell of weed filled the air and Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Vivian. You're a rebel."

"Open your window and the driver won't bother us." Dean hesitated for just a minute, then tugged the window down a few inches. He watched Vivian light the joint and take a big puff. "Have you done this before?" she asked her window.

"Yeah- been a while." He took a hit and coughed a lot of it out, trying to aim for the window. Thank god there were a few empty rows ahead of them. "So- what, you're the cool high grandma?" Vivian shrugged.

"I'm the grandma that hugs them and cooks them food. The rest, my daughter can explain away." Dean nodded, taking another drag from the joint and another long drink from the bottle. A few minutes later, he was feeling pretty good. Not good. That was the wrong word. Numb to some of the bad. "So, Dean. Who you brooding over?"

"I am _not_ brooding," Dean said, affronted. Vivian cackled.

"Sure, right." Dean leaned back his head swimming. Even alcohol couldn't keep Sam out of his head. Sam was god-knows-where by now, hopefully better off already. Hopefully headed off to finish school, or to meet up with one of the girls- hell, or guys- he'd met at Stanford. Sam was strong. He was independent. He'd be fine over this. Wouldn't he?

"His name's Sam," Dean admitted after consuming a few more inches of liquor. 

"Pretty name." Dean's lips curled upward despite himself.

"Yeah. Yeah it fits him. Sammy."

"So why'd you leave?" 

"How'dya know he didn't leave me?" Dean asked. Vivian scrutinized him. 

"Guy like you? You left him before he could leave you. Written all over your face." Dean grunted.

"Nah. I was doin' more harm than good being there. Left for him. He'll be fine." He grimaced at the bottle and passed it to Vivian. "He'll be fine," he repeated to himself. 

"And you're betting on that?"

"Yeah," Dean said, gritting his teeth. Of course not. He'd check in with Bobby, make sure Sam wasn't doing anything stupid, and send out help if he ever was. Somehow he'd still make sure Sam was okay. But fuck, it was going to be hard not being at his side. And what if something happened when Dean wasn't there? Even with a normal life, sometimes things happened, and if Dean wasn't there... His mouth started working so his head would stop.

"He's a giant. Fucking Grendel. He's almost a head taller than me. Bulky these days too. And you know, people still trust him more. He's got these huge puppy dog eyes. He just turns em on and people do whatever he wants. _I_ do whatever he wants, but it's like I don't even care. I wanna do it. And he's got these dimples- whenever he's trying not to smile that's what you see first. And he tattooed his name on my ass and I couldn't even be mad about it. Because it was _Sammy_. And-" _And now he thinks I hate him. And now I'm never going to see him again, if I can help it. And now I feel like I can't breathe because he isn't here and he could be hurt and it would all be my fault._ "And if I'd stayed, I would've destroyed him."

Vivian shook her head at him. 

"You can tell yourself whatever you want. Act like you're some brave hero, leaving to protect your lover. As long as you admit to _yourself_ that you're too much of a coward to stay."

"He's not my- I'm not- you don't get- it's a complicated situation, alright?" Dean growled. He wasn't quite drunk enough to blurt out _he's my goddamn brother,_ but he was pretty close. He snatched the bottle back and poured some down his throat. The taste was better now. "Trust me. He's way better off."

"Whatever you say."

"I mean it," Dean insisted. Vivian just raised an eyebrow at him. He scowled, turning the conversation to her grandkids. She got off an hour later, squeezing his shoulder. 

"Don't be a coward, Winchester. This could be our best shot." Dean squinted. He didn't remember telling her his last name. He watched the woman leave the bus, rubbing his eyes. By the time she left, the back of her head held brown curls and she- he?- looked taller. The person turned back around and gave Dean a wink before sauntering off. Dean shook his head. Too much weed mixed with booze. He turned back to the window.

The world was pleasantly far away, but somehow, that only seemed to make his mood worse. All he could see, with the rest of the world blurred, all he could think about was Sam. He saw Sam's face in the boring endless Kansas corn, that hurt look of his, open mouthed, wide-eyed, just _hurt_. Hurt worse than Dean had ever seen him before. And Dean was the one that made him look like that. Dean sighed. He needed to get off the damn bus. He made it another half-hour to the next stop and stumbled out, nearly walking into a pole as he tried to get his bearings. The world spun around him. Hotel. He needed to find a hotel. And there was a gigantic "vacancy" sign to his right. Good. That was good. He shoved the bottle back into his bag and followed the light. 

Somehow he managed to talk his way into getting a hotel room. He wasn't quite sure on how. The edges of the world were growing fuzzy, and Dean knew he was out of it. But he got the key, and even managed to get inside without puking all over the door or hurting himself. He shrugged out of most of his clothes and sat on the bed. Something seemed to crawl up from his heart to his throat, lodging itself there and stealing his breath. He traced the shape of Sam's name on his ass. Too goddamn true. Fucking Sam. His chest felt tight. Now that he was alone- now that no one was around to watch him- everything was hitting at once. He felt dizzy and drunk and like someone had cut off one of his limbs. His fingers fumbled at his phone. God- he wanted just to hear Sam's voice. If he called Sam, Sam would hear everything Dean was thinking. Bad. He called Bobby instead.

"If it isn't my favorite cue-ball." Dean took a deep breath, and before he could stop it, a single tear rolled down his cheek. He wiped it away.

"'Lo, Bobby," he managed, his voice sounding slow and slurred even to his own ears. "Need you to check on Sammy."

"Dean- you okay, son?" Bobby asked, all trace of humor gone from his voice. Dean took in a few deep breaths. Fuck, he was crying. More than one tear now. What the hell was wrong with him? He hadn't cried like this since he was a kid. But his chest ached and the liquor had taken over and he missed Sam like hell.

"Yeah, 'm fine. Call Sammy. 'am makeshur- make sure- he'sh okay."

"How drunk are you? What the hell happened?" Bobby demanded. Dean groaned. Why wasn't he getting it?

"I am fine," Dean said slowly, enunciating every word. "'M not durnk- drunk. Please Bobby- jusht- needa know hesh okay." There was a long silence. "Bobby?"

"What'd you do, Dean? Why can't you call him yourself?" Dean felt a few more tears slip down his cheeks. He took a few more deep breaths before trying to answer.

"Can't. Had to go. Had to-to shave him fro-me." The phone went silent again. "Bobby-"

"Where are you, son?" Bobby asked, voice soft, the voice he'd used every time he told Dean John was going to be gone longer, or something bad had happened. Dean shuddered, trying to pull himself together. 

"Uh- hour northa Omaha. Pleashe- check on Sam- I just- I needa know-"

"I'm gonna hang up and call him. Dean? You stay by your phone, alright? I'll call you right back. You somewhere safe?"

"Hotel."

"Good. You keep that phone right on you. Gimme the hotel number just in case." Dean stumbled to the phone and read the number out shakily. Then he hung up and curled up on the bed, watching the patterns in the wall and trying not to think. He couldn't stop the crying. It was awful and humiliating and just so weird. It had been a day. Not even. One day down, an eternity without Sam to go. When his phone rang, Dean almost dropped it in his rush to answer it.

"'Lo? Did you call him?"

"He's okay. He's still outside of Topeka- Guess he's taking a few days off." Dean felt a tiny part of the weight on his chest release. "Boy, you better tell me what the hell's going on. What happened?"

"Can't. Gotta go, Bobby. Shorry. Thank you." He hung up and ignored his phone buzzing beside him. He took a few more long drinks from the bottle until he knew his stomach wouldn't be able to take any more. 

Dean didn't remember passing out, but the next thing he knew, he was being woken up by the sound of a battering ram. He groaned, tugging one of the pillows over his head. 

"Dean! Open up! It's me!" Dean groaned louder, brain placing the voice as Bobby's. 

"The fuck you doing here?" he called out, not moving from the bed. 

"Get up." Dean groaned but forced himself out of the bed. He shook the nearly empty handle and shoved it under the bed. He opened the door and Bobby pushed his way inside. "God, you look bad."

"Thanks," Dean muttered, fumbling with the coffee machine. He got it working, glaring at it as coffee slowly started dripping into the cup. 

"Want to tell me why the hell you called me trashed at 10 pm last night cryin' about Sam?"

"I wasn't crying," Dean muttered. "Just had to make sure Sam was good, that's all." He grabbed his coffee and sat on the bed, facing away from Bobby.

"And why, Dean, wouldn't he be good?" Bobby asked, shaking his head as he sat on the bed beside Dean. Dean gritted his teeth. He was still somewhat drunk now. Which meant he had another hour or so, judging by feel, before the hangover _really_ started kicking in. He had to get rid of Bobby before that. That was gonna be a shitshow.

"Because we split. We fought and we split and we ain't huntin' together again."

"Like hell." Bobby glared at him and Dean sunk a little lower into the bed. "You two are practically conjoined. Don't give me that 'we split' shit. You assholes aren't the Beatles. You don't split. You and Sam both drinking yourselves to death when I call, Sam actin' like it was his fault, you sayin' you needed to save him from you? You're gonna start talking."

"Look- we just- I did something that- I just can't be around him anymore, alright? It's better for him. He can go off and lead his normal-"

"There ain't no fuckin' normal for him. He can't get outta this life any more than you can. Lately, seems he don't want to." 

"He does. And he can. He just needs to get used to the idea again," Dean said stubbornly. "He did it at Stanford. He left this before because he wanted to-"

"Well things ain't the same now, are they? Sam ain't the same. And neither are you. Now what the hell has you thinking you need to save him from you? You saved that boy more times'n I can count. And I don't know that he can handle hunting on his own."

"He won't hunt," Dean grunted. "He'll leave the life."

"I'm tellin' you, you're wrong. You two need each other. And you need to sort out whatever stupid shit that's got you thinking you don't and go make nice. Now." Dean snorted humorlessly. 

"If you knew everything, you wouldn't be saying that."

"If I knew- what the hell could get you so worked-" Bobby stopped, his face shifting in recognition. "Oh."

"Whatever you think it is, it's worse," Dean mumbled. "But I ain't talkin' about it. Just know. It's bad. I can't be around him. And I need you to look out for him." Bobby sighed and rubbed his thumbs into his forehead. 

"We're having this conversation exactly one time. Then I'm gonna drink enough to forget and you're gonna never mention it again." Bobby waited expectantly and Dean gave him a confused nod. "You boys've always been close. Closer than most brothers. Or most-anything. And I'm not stupid. Since Sam came back, I've seen the way you look at each other. Honest truth, I thought you'd been- ya know- _involved_ since then." Dean's jaw dropped. 

"What-"

"Shut up and let me get through this. That's the only thing this could be about. Only reason you'd ever think leaving would protect him. And let me tell you something, Dean? You're still an idjit. He's looked at you that way longer'n you been lookin' at him."

"It- he's still my-"

"What, somehow it's your fault? Think you did something to make him feel that way? The world don't revolve around you, boy. Figure way the two of you were raised? Kinda makes sense you'd- ya know. And _both_ of you, not just you. And- well, I'm never gonna say go off and- well- with your brother. But- it don't make you a bad person. With all the good you've both done, don't you think you deserve a little bit of happiness? Even if it's not so conventional? And you've got nothing to protect Sam from when it comes to yourself. He knows what he's doing." Dean stared at him, nonplussed.

"You've lost your fucking mind." Bobby snorted.

"Yeah. I hope so- and like I said, I don't want to hear another word on this. Ever. But don't be an idjit about this. Neither of you's gonna last without the other."

"And I'm tellin' you. Sam's better off. Trust me."

"Dean-"

"We aren't talkin' about this. How'd you even find me?"

"You gave me the hotel's number, genius. Look- come back with me for a bit. Least until you find a new case. Drink yourself to death in the comfort of a house." Dean sighed. Comfort wasn't what he needed right now.

"Nah- I got a case. Up in North Dakota." Dean knew Bobby knew he was lying. Right now he didn't really care. He just needed Bobby gone so he could grab more liquor and stave off the hangover. Bobby clapped him on the shoulder. 

"You need a car at least, kid. Come back and we'll cobble together something that runs." Dean sighed. 

"I'll come by soon. I promise. Right now-"

"Don't do anything stupid," Bobby warned, narrowing his eyes. "I mean it." Dean nodded.

"Yeah- I'm fine. Don't worry about me- just keep-"

"Keep an eye on Sam. Seems like that's your job." Dean grimaced. It was hard to look at Bobby with the sympathetic look on his face. It was hard to meet his eyes based on what he'd guessed about what happened. Still, he let Bobby tug him into a gruff hug. "You watch your back. And call soon so I know you're not face-down in a ditch somewhere." 

Right now, face-down in a ditch sounded pretty good as long as Dean didn't have to think. Bobby glanced back at him through the window until he got into his car. Dean waited ten minutes to be safe, then bought another few bottles. He was making a pretty good dent in it, and feeling mildly better aside from his stomach, when his phone buzzed. He opened it and held it to his ear.

"Bobby, you forget somethin'?" There was a long pause. "Bobby?"

"Hey, Dean," Sam said. Dean felt his heart stop, then start up again, beating thirty times faster than it had before. 

"Sam," he breathed, trying to sound as casual as he could. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Drunk a little. But good."

"Me too," Dean said. He glanced at the clock. 10 am. Not a great look for either of them. "Sam, I said-"

"You said we can't see each other. Don't cut me off completely," Sam said, his voice a little unsteady over the last words. Dean clutched the phone tighter. 

"Okay. Phone calls are fine," Dean said. It was more than he deserved to be able to hear Sam's voice, to know a little about what he was doing. "Where you at?"

"Topeka. Headin' to Graeby, Colorado tomorrow. Where are you? Bobby said-"

"You talked to Bobby?" Dean asked, his heart dropping. 

"Yeah- last night. He was checking up on me." 

"Right- Uh, I dunno exactly. Heading north from Omaha. Gonna try to find something up there. Why're you headed to Colorado? Old boyfriend live there?" _Please, God, don't let it be an old boyfriend._ Sam snorted, an emotionless imitation of his usual laugh. 

"No, Dean. There's a hunt there. Pretty brutal killings. I'm gonna look into it."

"Alone?" Dean barked. The silence on the other line told him everything he needed to know. "What the _hell_ , Sam? You can't go after a crazy fucking monster alone!"

"Then come with me."

"I'm not- Sam, that's not fucking funny. Take Bobby or someone. What if it's something big?"

"Then I'll handle it." Dean leapt from the bed.

"Sam, I'm telling you, do not go after something you describe as 'brutal' alone. Please." Sam was silent. "Please, Sam, c'mon."

"I should go. Bye, Dean." 

"Sam!" he bellowed. No one answered him. He groaned and started packing. The second he was sober, and that was gonna take a few hours, he was heading for Colorado, hangover be damned. Fucking asshole, Sam. He'd just have to work the case first so Sam couldn't get involved. All before Sam got there. He could do that.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean hot-wired a car, feeling less guilty about it then he probably should have. Insurance was a thing. And he wouldn't take it very far before snagging another one. The drive was miserable. Dean's hangover hit all at once and hard, and he had to pull over every half-hour or so to puke. His head felt like it was splitting open, and more than anything else, he was exhausted. He pounded a few five hour energy drinks and switched cars, hitting the highway once more. He still felt terrible. What if Sam got in a crash on the way down? He was too fucking big to be driving Baby. What if he hurt himself- But he wasn't a lanky kid who didn't know how to handle his limbs anymore. He was graceful, lithe despite his size. He could sneak up on Dean like it was nothing, then use the full advantage of his size to pin Dean. He'd done it so many times it wasn't even a shock anymore. He'd handle Baby just fine.

Dean parked outside of town a few miles and hitch-hiked his way in. The nausea faded, but he still felt like he was about to fall asleep right there in the passenger seat of a semi. He managed to make it to Graeby, locating the nearest coffee shop and ordering a triple red-eye. He downed it, and grabbed an extra for the road. He had a night and a morning essentially to figure this out or he'd run into Sam. He couldn't do that. He'd lose all his resolve. And there was no fucking way Sam was hunting this thing alone. So he'd run off coffee and work off the hangover. Easy. He still didn't feel like eating- that saved more time- and he didn't have a suit. So local bar was his best bet to get some idea of what was going on. He got a motel room first and took a badly-needed shower. Then he headed out.

Dean still felt too sick to drink again, but he wasn't gonna be the strange weirdo sitting at the bar without a drink. Not if he wanted to learn anything. So he ordered a light beer and sipped at it, staring at the bar and listening to the conversations around him. Two old guys laughed boisterously a few stools away, clapping each other on the backs and bursting into another gale of laughter. Definitely not talking about gruesome murders. Aside from them, though, the mood of the place was somber. People spoke in hushed tones, avoided looking at each other too long. They mostly avoided Dean. He listened until he heard something interesting.

"Do you even think it's safe for us to be out right now?" a young woman nervously asked her friend. "I mean- with what's happening."

"We're fine," the other woman said. "He's going after queers, not girls. So as long as we don't go gay for each other..." Dean nodded to himself. Alright, monsters that had a type- he could deal with that. He signaled the bartender and gave his most charming grin. 

"Where's the closest gay bar?" he asked. The guy blanched and looked around. 

"You don't want to be going there right now, buddy. Some psycho's targeting the gays. Two kids dead. Look like animals the cops say, but I don't think so."

"I think I'll be okay," Dean said. The guy glanced around.

"Just outside of town. Maybe a mile from here? Only one in like a hundred miles." He glanced around one more time, leaning forward. "Usually pretty crowded on Saturday nights. If you wait till after my shift, I'll go with you."

"Thanks, buddy. Maybe I'll see ya there," Dean said. He couldn't muster up enough enthusiasm to make it sound genuine. He was way off his game. Still hungover, but way worse than that, stuck on thinking about Sam. He needed to get his damn head in the game before he got to the bar. That's who he'd want to talk to, the regulars there. And if he was a mopey exhausted mess, he wasn't gonna learn one damn thing. He chugged his coffee as he walked down Main Street. 

The town was pretty small, only a few lines of businesses and homes all next to each other. It was already chilly, and Dean wrapped his jacket around himself, cursing. Should have worn more layers. He hadn't planned well. Had salt and a silver knife, iron, his .45 tucked into his belt. That should be enough. He'd done more with less, and for now, he was mostly doing recon. With any luck at all. He cursed himself again, tugging out his phone. 

"Speak," Bobby said.

"I'm in Graeby, Colorado. They got a werewolf or somethin' rippin' up gay guys." 

"That's where Sam's headed." 

"Yeah- that's why I'm here. You knew about this shit? Him goin' alone?"

"You went alone, idjit. Boy's as competent as you are."

"We're talking a pretty big monster from the mutilations. He's almost never hunted alone. Not really. It's different. You know that."

"Right. You callin' cus you need backup?" Dean shook his head.

"Nah, I'll be good. Just tellin' ya where to find the body."

"Very funny. Don't be stupid on this. Been a while since you've gone solo too." Dean rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I think I'll be fine," he muttered sarcastically. "Night, Bobby." 

He paused across the street from the bar, his hair standing on end. He had time to get a hand on his gun before a blinding flash hit his eyes. He gasped, head exploding in pain as he tugged out his Colt and aimed at the source. He fired twice before something sharp cut along his arm. He struggled, punching wildly unable to see his target as he connected at random, kicking and grabbing whatever he could get his hands on. He heard one guy go down- at least two more to go- but his limbs were growing heavy. He swore loudly, vaguely aware of someone laughing behind him as he passed out.

_Sam lay behind him, holding Dean tightly to his chest. It was a dream. Dean knew it was a dream, but still he clung to Sam's arm, trying to pull him even closer. Sam's free hand carded through Dean's hair lazily, and Sam's breath hit his neck with every exhale._

_"Miss you, Sammy," Dean whispered. Sam's lips pressed into his shoulder._

_"You could have been here right now," Sam murmured. Dean clung to him, trying to soak in the way he felt, the way his body fit so perfectly against Dean's own, his warm strong arms. The smell of his shampoo, the way the callouses on his hands brushed over Dean's skin. If he could remember, maybe he could take a part of this feeling back with him when he woke._

_"Nah. Gotta look out for you," he answered. Sam laughed into Dean's neck, biting down lightly and drawing a sharp gasp from Dean._

_"You know, for such a smart guy you can really be an idiot. Can't look out for me when you're off doing stupid shit on your own. Come back to me." Dean clutched at him, rolling so that his face pressed into Sam's chest, until all he could feel were Sam's arms around him, and all he could hear was the steady beat of Sam's heart._

_"Stay with me," he whispered. Sam's hands stroked him, touch feeling lighter and lighter until it disappeared._

Dean opened his eyes, comfort of the dream fading as he remembered what had happened. He was tied to a chair. His first thought was to wonder how many times he'd woken up tied to chairs. He sighed, glancing around the room. Light was filtering in through the blinds, so he'd been asleep most of the night. Strong drug. Not good. Although this time, at least he hadn't gotten hit on the head. His skull could probably use some recovery time. Blinds, near-empty room without so much as a painting on the wall, and just two chairs, his and the one beside him that held a still-unconscious man. A boy, really. Kid had floppy hair like Sam's and didn't look older than eighteen. Probably wouldn't be much help. The rope wasn't too thick, just a few tight loops to keep his wrists tied together behind the chair and his ankles tied to each chair leg. Definitely something he could get out of, given a little time. He flexed his wrists. A little give. Enough to let him tug out the small flat piece of metal he kept tucked inside of his sleeve for occasions just like this. 

_Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ he repeated to himself as he rubbed the rope over the metal. He got caught unawares by a couple of idiots with a fucking bright light. He'd been in worse situations. He could get out of this no problem. Save the kid, kill the monster (or monsters?), have plenty of time to get the hell outa dodge before Sam showed up. Easy. They weren't gagged, so they must be far enough away for their kidnappers not to worry about screaming. They also weren't blindfolded, meaning they weren't expected to survive this ordeal. But Dean had already known that. And he'd hazard a guess these fuckers hadn't dealt with his type before. 

The door opened and Dean hid the file in his fist, plastering his cockiest smile to his face as his captor entered. One of the guys from last night, judging from the black and purple black eye he was spotting. The guy had long dark lanky hair, and he glared at Dean as he entered.

"I'm supposed to give you water, but that's not happening," he said, holding a glass to the boy's lips. The boy sucked in a few hungry gasps of water, then choked, coughing most of it back over himself. The man let him have another few sips before turning to Dean.

"That's cool. You can save it for washing your hair. Or are you going for the full Snape look?" A fist connected with his chin and Dean choked out a laugh, dull pain radiating from his jaw. "Cute. Shoulda done it higher so we could match."

"You killed my best friend last night," Grease-ball hissed. "So maybe keep your mouth shut if you don't want my knife to accidentally slip before the ceremony." Dean raised an eyebrow. Bullets killed these guys? Easy. Of course, the familiar weight of his gun at his side was gone, but he could find it, could get it back easy and then these fuckers were right outa luck. He spat a mouthful of blood onto Grease-ball's feet.

"Don't worry, buddy. You'll be with your friend soon." Grease-ball spat at Dean's face. Dean didn't flinch. He'd had worse.

"Yeah, we'll see about that. Got about two hours left of life, asshole. Enjoy it." Dean gave him a last cocky grin and watched him leave, sliding the file back between the ropes and getting back to work. 

"Hey, you okay?" he asked the kid. The kid stirred, his eyes still unfocused.

"Where're we? What's happening?" he asked. Dean sighed.

"Not sure. They get ya at the gay bar?" The kid looked down in shame.

"My parents don't know."

"Well, let's get out of this and they won't have to find out. How many of 'em did you see?"

"I- I don't know, they grabbed me and something sharp jabbed me- did we get drugged? Where- oh god, my boyfriend. He was with me- I don't remember- oh god." The kid let out a pitiful sob. Dean worked at the metal faster.

"Hey- hey, it's gonna be okay," he said as softly as he could manage. "What's your name?"

"Michael."

"I'm Dean. I'm gonna get you out of here, Michael, alright? Trust me, I've faced way worse than these dumbasses. You're gonna be fine." Michael kept sobbing gently. Dean worked through the ropes. He was making progress. "Something sharp got you, right? Me too. But it didn't feel like a needle. What'd it feel like to you?" Michael's breaths came fast and unsteady.

"Um- Fingernail?" he choked out. Dean nodded.

"Yeah that's what I thought. Hey- focus on your breathing, alright? Three seconds in, three out. It'll help ya keep calm." Michael took shaky breaths, rocking in his chair. Dean's hands worked quickly on the rope. "Hey- tell me about your boyfriend. Keep talking." Michael sniffled and swallowed visibly.

"Um- He-he's a few years older than me. I met him there- at the club- a year ago. He's studying to do HVAC stuff. He's really sweet- I'm going to move to Arizona with him in a few months. As long as-" Michael sniffled again, but swallowed hard and pushed on. "In a few months. And I haven't decided if I'm gonna tell my parents or not. I might just leave."

"What're they like?" Dean asked, half listening as he sawed at the rope. 

"They're- religious. So- it's not gonna go well. But a part of me thinks they should still know, ya know? Kind of seems like I'm running scared if I don't. If I just leave-"

"Sometimes you have to just leave," Dean grunted. "Don't make you a coward. Sometimes it's the only option."

"Maybe," Michael said. "But for me- I don't know. I think I'd rather have them know and disown me and hate me than just to walk away." Dean sighed. 

"You might be right, kid."

"When did you tell your parents? Or- did you?"

"One of em knows," Dean admitted, heat rushing to his cheeks at the thought of Bobby _knowing-_ "I didn't tell him. The other two've been dead long enough I don't think they'd care." The rope snapped and he grinned, stretching his hands in front of him. Michael's mouth dropped. 

"How did you-"

"All part of the job," Dean said, fumbling with the rope around his ankles. He stood in triumph and glanced out the window. "Second floor. Shit," he muttered to himself as he untied Michael. There was a somewhat busy road about a hundred feet away, though. That was something. "Can't go out the window, which means you're gonna have to come with me and make a run for it." 

"What- are you crazy? They'll kill us!" He fumbled beneath his clothes. They had his gun, of course, and they'd found a few of the knives. He grabbed the switchblade from his shoe and sighed.

"They're gonna kill us if we stay here. Trust me. I'll get you out, okay?" He glanced up and down the kid. "You don't happen to have anything useful in your pockets do you?" Michael fumbled around and held out a few bobby pins and a pen. Dean grinned, wondering for just a second if Sam had ever used bobby pins in his hair when it was at its longest. A stab of hurt hit his chest. God, he wished Sam was here. It was so selfish- but if Sam were there, there wouldn't even be a chance of them losing. And now- Dean wasn't worried. Not exactly. He just wished Sam was there. He made a split-second decision, grabbing the pen and holding on to Michael's arm. 

"What're you doing?"

"Hold still for a sec, Mikey." He wrote Sam's number, then every detail he could think of about the monsters. "I'm your distraction. You're getting out." He steered the kid to the window and pointed to the road. "You run there and flag down a car. Find out where we are. Borrow a phone and call this number. His name is Sam. He'll come help, alright? Just read everything on your arm. Can you do it?"

"Yeah," Michael said. His tears were gone and there was a determined set to his jaw. His hair fell into his eyes and Dean was reminded of Sam again. 

"Good. You be ready."

"Why aren't you coming?"

"Well," Dean started, sliding a bobby pin into the lock and fiddling with the door. "Don't know that both of us could get out. And if we could, these guys're gonna be spooked. They'll run and it might be months before I can find em again. Sides, I can take em. Get my gun back, I probably won't even need help." Michael looked at him skeptically, but didn't argue. The lock clicked. "Ready?"

They stepped into the hall, Dean keeping the kid behind him. Hall was clear. He'd expected that. He found the stairs and crept down slowly. He heard voices from downstairs, hushed and somber. The front door was close. Good. Michael could easily make it out. Dean sauntered down the stairs and into the living room. The two men on the couch sprang up and Dean gave them a shit-eating grin, hoping Michael was already on his way out the door.

"What, you expect a guy to sit in a room without cable all day? Least give me a skin mag or something," he said. Grease-ball glanced toward the door. The other eyed him carefully, slowly stepping toward him. Fuck. He needed both. "Just thought I'd stop by and pass on some wishes from the other side before you get there in a minute. Your friend- what was his name? Assface? He said he's doin' just fine in hell. Saved you a place beside him getting gang-banged by demons." 

That did it. Both of them ran at him, and the front door shut behind the kid. His grin widened as he brandished his knife. The first man barreled into him, and Dean was ready. He sliced the knife across the guy's thigh, but the man opened his mouth, and blinding light came out of it. Dean cursed and kept slashing, but he couldn't see. He connected at least twice more, but not deep enough to do any harm, and blows reined down on him hard and unending and the knife was out of his hands and all he could do was keep hitting and kicking and every dirty trick he could pull. One of the guys got his hands behind his back, and all he could do was kick. His vision started to clear, just in time for him to see long blue fingernails in front of his face. He startled backward, head butting the guy holding him, but the fingernails drew closer and closer. 

"Don't. We need him awake for the ceremony," a voice from the stairs called. 

"Just a little," Grease-ball said with a grin, and the sharp nail cut across Dean's throat. He fought as long as he could, but his eyes grew heavy and three vaguely humanoid faces were staring down at him. He closed his eyes and the world went black.

When he woke up, he was chained to a wall, which he had to admit was a lot worse than just being tied to a chair. Iron chains. Cute. A pretty heavy collar around his neck secured to the wall with two chains, and his wrists and ankles manacled too, short chains secured to supports on the wall. He couldn't move more than a few inches in any direction.

"Kinky," he called out. "Am I gonna get any touch, or is this more a punishment scene?" Creepy symbol on the floor? Check. Creepy-ass spell shit set up around it? Double check. The only thing missing were the people. And there was no way he was getting out of chains as quick as he had the rope. "Why not just tie me up here to start with? Waste of a good dungeon."

"Chains were occupied earlier," a voice out of sight called. Dean glanced at the chains in disgust. He was gonna have to hope it was a sex thing. Not a sacrifice. 

"You got me all trussed up pretty and waiting," Dean called. "Now what?"

"Now you die," Grease-ball said, striding into the room. He sat down and stared at Dean, cold satisfaction on his face. "Who are you? How did you get out?"

"Well, I'd tell you. But then I'd have to kill you," Dean said. The monster opened its mouth wider than a human should have been able to, and Dean was blinded once again. He cursed, eyes streaming with tears of pain as he tried to blink sight back into them. "Cool light show. You do that at parties?"

"I'll ask you again. How did you get out?"

"Slayer strength." He kept blinking, vision slowly returning to normal. "In every generation-" A fist connected with his stomach and he paused for a second to catch his breath, pushing back the nausea. "Lemme guess. You were more of a _Charmed_ guy."

"My only orders are not to kill you. I can do whatever else I want." Dean laughed, sure to keep his eyes closed. 

"You _are_ pretty boring. Which- I mean, they use boredom as a tactic in Guantanamo. So- good work, buddy." Grease-ball hit his stomach again, just below the ribcage. The guy was pretty weak, but Dean had to admit, it hurt. He took a few deep breaths before continuing. "So what's with the setup? You guys got a frat party later tonight?"

"A sacrifice," Grease-ball said, smug tone in his voice. Dean muffled a grunt as his right side lit up in pain. "You. Our god needs blood."

"That's enough," a colder voice said. "Time to bleed him." Dean risked opening his eyes to see the other two creatures had joined the first, each of them holding long, deadly-looking knives. He struggled against the metal, but it held him fast. For the first time, he felt a twinge of concern. Maybe Sam wasn't coming. Maybe he hadn't got the message in time. Maybe- then a gunshot cracked through the air and Guy One fell to the ground. The room exploded into light and sound, both monsters using their weird throat-thing, aiming it toward the stairs. Leader fell, groaning in pain. Another shot silenced him. Grease-ball ran to Dean, extending the long knife, manic look in his face as he pressed the blade below the shackle at Dean's throat. 

"This is for Ryan," he hissed. Then he was gone. It took Dean's brain a second to process that a wall-sized man was slamming Grease-ball into the concrete wall over and over, blood splatters landing on him and Dean. The Wall threw Grease-ball to the ground, face a mask of rage. Dean's breath caught in his throat.

"Don't you _fucking_ touch him," Sam snarled. He shot Grease-ball once in the head, then kicked the body.

The corpse twitched once, then went still, blue fingernails still extended. Sam whipped his dark sunglasses off and threw them to the ground. Dean looked at his brother. Sam was covered in blood, hulking and huge and commanding. He looked feral, expression still full of primal anger, and his eyes locked on Dean's. _This_ was the man, his dorky brother, Dean was supposed to be protecting from himself? This was the man Dean hadn't trusted to know what he wanted? He swallowed hard, thoughts racing. Sam walked toward him, stopping a few feet away. For a long moment they just stared at each other. Dean swallowed again. He _wanted,_ wanted so badly it scared him, so badly it hurt, and Sam was giving him that look again, dark-eyed, hungry.

"Sam," Dean said, his voice surprisingly even. "C'mere." Sam stepped to him, the back of his hand tracing lightly down Dean's cheek. 

"They hurt you," Sam said, his voice still rough and raw. Dean shivered, leaning into his touch, straining against the chains. 

"Yeah, well. Coulda been worse. I had somebody to save me." Sam's face was inches from his. Not close enough. It wasn't just want anymore. It was raw desire, hunger, need, and Dean felt himself break, the surrender such a relief he could almost cry. He leaned forward, the chains around his neck clanking as he brought his lips to Sam's. Sam jerked back, eyes rapidly darting across Dean's face.

"But you said-"

"What the fuck do I know?" Dean asked. Sam chewed at his lip. "Sammy- I couldn't last a day without you. Alright? Literally- look at this shit. I- I don't wanna last a day without you. And I know this is wrong and fucked up- but I want it. I want you. And- fuck, man, I don't care about anything else, long as you want it too. I _need_ you."

Sam stared at him for a second longer. Then his dimples showed and he gave Dean the biggest smile Dean had ever seen, his eyes still feral and wild. He lurched forward, body crashing into Dean's as his lips fumbled along Dean's jawline, pressing harsh kisses into his skin. Dean gasped, struggling against the chains to try to pull Sam closer, to touch him. He groaned in frustration as they held him still. Sam kissed his lips roughly, teeth grazing Dean's lower lip before pulling away again. 

"You could have died," Sam accused, stroking Dean's jawline. 

"Didn't."

"Dean, if I would have lost you-" 

"You didn't," Dean said more gently, trying to move forward to catch Sam's lips against his. He grunted in annoyance as the chains held him back

"I should get these off," Sam said, brushing his hand from Dean's chin down across the shackle around Dean's neck. Dean shivered. "I like the collar, though. Maybe we should get you one. And a leash to keep you from running away."

"Don't need a collar. I've still got your fricken name on my ass," Dean murmured, voice sounding more turned on than annoyed. "Wanna keep me from running away, just add 'If lost, return to Sam Winchester.'" Sam's giant hands grabbed his ass and squeezed, teeth brushing against Dean's neck, pressing their torsos together. Dean felt his hot breath in his ear.

"Yeah- there's never been any question about who this belongs to," Sam quipped. Dean couldn't manage to pretend to be upset. He was too overwhelmed by the feel of Sam's warm hands on his ass, the smell of him, the sound of his stupid chuckle. 

"Got an idea. How about you don't unchain me and we just stay here forever?" he managed to get out, his voice strained and breathless. Sam tugged him closer, biting the skin just below Dean's ear. 

"Gonna be pretty hard to fuck you like this, Dean." And Jesus Christ, those words out of his brother's mouth-

" _Fuck_ , Sammy." Sam laughed, breath landing against Dean's neck. 

"Yeah, that's the plan. Gotta let go of you, though. Gotta get outa here before the cops come." And yeah, that sounded like a good plan, but each word was whispered against his skin and Sam's hands were everywhere, dammit, and there was something so hot about not being able to move, about Sam being able to do whatever he wanted with him...

"Uh- okay. But- just for a minute- can we-" There was no fucking way in hell Dean was going to ask out loud for a chained up makeout session. Luckily, Sam pushed him back against the wall, his gigantic hands gently clobbering Dean's body as their lips connected. Dean smiled to himself. He was sore and exhausted, but somehow it didn't matter. Not with Sam here. Not with Sam, who wanted him, who _loved_ him, who'd saved his sorry ass. For the first time in a long time, everything was okay.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably add an epilogue eventually, but this is the end of the main story. Thank you so much for reading and sticking around this long!!

Dean drove back to the hotel. It felt good to be back behind the wheel of his Baby. Felt better to have Sam's hands all over him as he drove. The drive felt like it was a million miles at least instead of the maybe two it actually was, especially when Sam kept _touching_ him, hands roaming all over Dean's body like he was learning him by touch. His hand lingered on Dean's throat, rubbing gently at the marks left by the heavy metal ring. 

"Those fuckers," Sam growled for probably the third time, his thumb tracing down Dean's Adam's apple. "I can't believe you went after three of- whatever they were- hungover, on no sleep, with practically no weapons or research. _Alone_."

"Technically, there were four. Ganked one before you showed up."

" _Dean!_ "

"Eh, they were idiots," Dean said. "And I had to make sure you didn't go after three of whatever they were while you were hungover and alone with no sleep-"

"I would have researched. And been patient. And- Dean, are you okay?" His hand tightened possessively around Dean's neck, and Dean's annoyance at being asked the same question for the fourth time evaporated. 

"Yeah, Sammy. I'm okay."

"Good. God, you're an idiot." Dean nodded, trying desperately to focus on the road as Sam's fingers started moving again. 

"Well I'm _your_ idiot. And I mean you- love me. Or whatever. So who's the _real_ idiot?" Sam gave him a half-grin, shaking his head. 

"You. Definitely you." 

They finally managed to get to the hotel, and Sam grabbed Dean and dragged him out of the Impala before he could take a breath. He heaved out a laugh as Sam shoved him against the car and kissed him hard, his hand running through Dean's short hair. Dean forgot what they were supposed to be doing. Didn't matter. Sam was kissing him. Sam was touching him. Heat pooled in his stomach, and he let himself give in entirely to instinct. He'd never been with anyone he _knew_ like this, someone whose skin he'd literally been inside. And it was... there wasn't another word for it. Awesome. Sam pulled away after a minute, grabbing Dean by the collar of his shirt and dragging him toward the motel.

"So bossy," Dean said, his voice still breathless. Sam glanced back at him, raising an eyebrow.

"You love it." Maybe. But he was never gonna _admit_ to that. He fished for the keycard, holding it out in triumph and getting them into the room. Sam pushed Dean inside, closing the door like an after thought. He looked at Dean almost hesitantly. "Are you sure? I mean- you're not just doing this for me?"

Dean laughed harder than he meant to. He grabbed Sam's hand and tugged it to his cock. Sam's breath stuttered, and he crowded against Dean, rubbing him through his jeans. Dean groaned, hand running through Sam's silky hair, tugging their foreheads together. Sam's breath mixed with his, stuttering and uneven like Dean knew his own was. 

"This is what you do to me, Sammy. Touch me for two fuckin' seconds and you get me like this. I've never wanted anyone- fuck, I've never wanted _anything_ as bad as I want you. I tried not to think about it- even before we switched- I just pushed it away when I thought about it, but _Sam_ -" 

"Jesus, Dean," Sam breathed, unfastening Dean's jeans and rubbing Dean through his briefs. Dean shivered, a moan escaping between his lips before he could stop it. "Already so hard for me." 

Dean closed his eyes as Sam kissed him, his tongue pressing up against Dean's in a way that made Dean feel warm and desperate. He moaned into Sam's mouth, hips jerking, trying to push his dick faster into Sam's hand. Sam's free hand landed on his hip, pressing him into the wall and restricting his movement. His other hand stilled, giving Dean just enough contact to make him need more. He groaned, struggling in Sam's grip.

"Maybe I should have left you chained up to keep you still," Sam said, his dimples prominent on his face. Dean shivered at the thought of _that_.

"Chains later. Now- need you. C'mon. Please, Sammy," Dean said, unable to keep the whine out of his voice. "Touch me." 

"I will," Sam said, his thumb rubbing circles beneath Dean's hip bone. "If you're good. Think you can be good for me? Follow orders like a good soldier? I know you want to. Want me to take control here. Let me." Dean shivered, stilling. Those words- god, they shouldn't have this big of an effect on him. He shouldn't want his younger brother bossing him around. That was supposed to be _his_ job. But right now, with Sam looking at him like that, with so much promise and dark heat in his eyes... All he wanted was to please.

"I'll be good for you," he muttered, unable to look Sam in the eyes as he said it. Sam's finger crooked beneath his chin, forcing his head up, forcing him to meet Sam's eyes.

"What was that?" Sam asked, eyes demon black. Dean forced himself not to look away.

"I'll be good for you," he repeated, watching Sam's eyes flash. 

"Good," Sam praised, and Dean felt a rush of warmth. Sam let go of his cock and grabbed both of his wrists, pinning them above his head, pressing his huge frame against Dean's. Sam's lips pressed across his jawline, then the spot just beneath his ear, sucking a mark into Dean's skin. Dean lurched toward him, unable to help himself, but Sam's body held him in place, effectively caging him against the wall. 

"Somebody's gotta teach you patience," Sam growled into his ear. "You're lucky I've wanted this for so long. Otherwise I might just tie you up and play with you for hours without letting you come."

"When'd you get such a dirty mouth?" Dean asked weakly, wondering how turned on he'd have to be to literally lose his mind. He felt pretty close now with Sam's body pressed up against him, holding him still, not letting him move. Sam laughed, low and promising against Dean's neck. 

"Maybe I listened to you too much. Maybe I watched too much trashy motel TV. Who can say? I'm gonna let go of you. Stay still." Sam let go of him, stepping back, eyes never leaving Dean's. Dean forced himself to stay still, not to jump back at Sam. "So good for me," Sam said, and Dean shivered again, not quite sure why he liked that particular phrase so much. He decided to stop thinking. "Take your clothes off."

"Yeah, that one I don't mind doing," Dean said with a grin. He tried to put on as much of a show as he could. He might not have much in way of brains or kindness, not the way Sam did, but he was hot and he knew how to use that. He slowly slid his shirt off, stretching his arms upward to show off his muscled stomach. When it was over his eyes, he paused at Sam's expression. He was used to admiration from his partners. Used to lust. And he liked both. But Sam- Sam was staring at him like he was the Holy Grail, like he was something special, like he was the only thing that mattered in the world. He paused, throwing the shirt to the ground. 

"You've seen this before a hundred times, Sammy," he murmured, glancing away. Sam was beside him in seconds, dragging a palm down Dean's chest slowly, other hand forcing Dean's face back up to meet his eyes. 

"I've never been allowed to look before. Not like this. Dean- you're fucking perfect, you know that?" Dean tried to look away, but Sam held him still, stroking his chin. 

"Nah, I'm not. Can we- no chick-flick moments," he said as forcefully as he could manage with Sam touching him. Sam grinned at him. 

"I make the rules here. And there will be as many goddamn chick-flick moments as there need to be. Now take your pants off." Sam tugged him in for a kiss, then pushed him back. Dean scowled for a second, but did as he was told, tugging his jeans down and letting them fall to the floor. "Boxers too." 

Dean hesitated for just a moment, then slid his briefs down and kicked them off. The only thing he wore was Sam's amulet, and there was probably something poetic about that, but Dean wasn't poetic enough to place it into words. Sam's intense gaze was still fixed on him. Dean held his arms out, pleading wordlessly, and Sam stepped forward, enfolding him once again. Dean closed his eyes as Sam's lips pressed back against his. Sam stroked his hair, other hand squeezing his ass firmly, and Dean relaxed into him, letting Sam take control. There was something so liberating about giving up, just for a little while, the control he so desperately tried to cling to in the rest of his life. Making sure Sam was okay. Finding hunts. Getting things taken care of. Here, right now, all he had to do was to feel, to listen. And there was something kinda hot about Sam being fully dressed while he was naked. 

Sam walked him backwards to the bed, then pushed him onto it. Dean grinned up at him, self-consciousness gone, at least for the moment.

"Think you gotta take your clothes off if you wanna fuck me." Sam landed heavy on top of him, pressing Dean into the mattress as he rocked against him slowly. He nipped at Dean's jaw, then his earlobe, his breath warm on Dean's skin.

"Not gonna fuck you yet," he murmured into Dean's ear. "Gonna make you come in my mouth." Sam slid down his body, leaving him too cold, not enough touch. He groaned in displeasure, the sound cutting off into a sharp gasp as Sam's mouth closed around his dick. Warm tight wetness surrounded him as Sam took him in to the hilt.

"Oh, fuck, Sam," Dean managed to get out as Sam started to move. His little brother was sucking his cock. His little brother was sucking his cock like it was his _job_ , his freakishly long arm reaching up and grasping the amulet he'd given Dean so long ago. Dean gasped, his hand reaching down to touch Sam's hair, shocks of pleasure radiating through his body. His hips jerked up out of his control as Sam continued to work him, and it didn't take long before Dean was panting and gasping. Sam had him on the edge in minutes. It was his brother doing this, his Sam's warm tongue on his cock. That alone was almost enough to make him come. Sam pulled back and Dean let out an embarrassing whine of loss. Sam chuckled, climbing on top of Dean once more.

"What, you don't want me to finger you while I suck you off?" Dean opened his mouth to respond, but Sam shoved two fingers past his lips before he could. He sucked on them instinctively, his eyes closing. Sam made a sound he couldn't quite interpret. "Jesus, Dean. Didn't even have to tell you." Sam's fingers still tasted like gunpowder and something metallic, and Dean couldn't seem to stop. He loved the feel of Sam's rough skin on the roof of his mouth, playing along the edges of his lips. He was almost disappointed when Sam pulled them out. 

"Why is even _that_ so good?" he asked, voice strained. "Everything with you- it's like turned up to a ten."

"We haven't even started yet," Sam promised, sliding back down between Dean's legs. Sam's mouth returned to work, and Dean gasped as one of Sam's huge fingers slowly pressed into him. He loved the burn of it, loved the contrast of the pleasure and the pain as Sam worked him open. It wasn't enough lube. It didn't need to be. He loved the edge of pain. Soon he was gasping and twitching again with every thrust of Sam's finger.

"Sammy-Sammy- I'm gonna come- Fuck," he managed to get out. He came hard, spilling into Sam's mouth as his hips moved out of his control, his body a shivering mess of pleasure. The pleasure faded, and he gasped, trying to catch his breath. 

"So hot, Dean," Sam murmured.

"How- how're you so good at that?" he managed to gasp. Sam gave him a half-smile, his eyes still dark and wanting. 

"We just fit," he said, slowly pulling his finger out of Dean. Dean hissed at the burn of it, watching in confusion as Sam slid off the bed. 

"Where're you goin'?" he asked, half-afraid Sam was going to walk out the door and never come back. Sam fumbled with his bag, then came back, crawling on top of Dean and waving something in his face. Lube, Dean realized.

"If I'm gonna fuck you without breaking you, we're gonna need this."

"You can break me," Dean murmured, only half aware of what he was saying. Sam's eyes flashed, and he kissed Dean roughly for a moment before pulling back.

"Yeah- break you with pleasure- gonna make you scream for me," Sam promised. He fumbled with the lube bottle, and two fingers circled around Dean's entrance. Dean hissed as he pressed inside. 

"Sensitive," he murmured. Sam's teeth brushed along the soft spot between his shoulder and his neck.

"I know, baby, it'll feel good again in a second. Trust me?" Dean shivered and nodded. "So good for me, Dean. If it's too much, say Poughkeepsie, okay? And I'll stop." 

"Yeah," he murmured, his arms wrapping around Sam. He gasped, his overstimulated body protesting as two of Sam's fingers slowly slid into him. His breath came in quick harsh pants as Sam moved his fingers in and out of him, stretching him, getting him ready. Sam's fingers suddenly curled up and rubbed against his prostate, and Dean's back arched as spikes of pleasure hit him. 

"See? So good, Dean," Sam said. A third finger pressed beside the other two, and slowly all of them slid into Dean. Dean winced, the feeling -too much, too soon, just came- crashing over him. He forced himself to relax, forced himself to trust Sam. Sam wouldn't do anything he couldn't handle. Still, he whimpered every time Sam's fingers caught on his rim, every time they pushed into him. Sam whispered reassurances, slowly stretching him out. All three of his fingers curled up at once, and Dean moaned, the too-much feelings fading back into pure pleasure. 

"Sam- fuck me. 'M ready. Please- I needa feel you. Please-"

"Patience," Sam said, but he didn't look all that patient himself. His fingers sped up until Dean was gasping once more, so turned on he couldn't see straight.

"Please, Sammy, please, I need you-" Dean babbled, half out of his mind. "Please-"

"Yeah," Sam said, nodding. "Yeah."

He jumped off the bed and started ripping at his clothes. For all the crap Dean had given Sam about seeing him shirtless a hundred times, he couldn't stop staring. Sam was like a greek god, huge and imposing, every muscle in his chest visible. His hair hung around his face, shining in the dim motel room light, and Dean had to catch himself from running over and grabbing him. Patience was stupid. He watched, breath caught in his throat, as Sam slid his pants down. Dean couldn't look away. He was about to have that thing inside of him? How the hell was it gonna fit?

"Jesus," he murmured as Sam slowly walked back to him. "Being totally serious here- was your dick bitten by a radioactive spider when we were kids? How'd that even happen?" 

"Hands and knees," Sam said. Dean scrambled do obey, and Sam ran a hand along his spine, leaving goosebumps behind where he touched. Dean glanced over his shoulder, and Sam used a hand at the back of Dean's neck to turn his head back around. 

"Sam-" Dean started, half a second away from begging again. He felt something huge pressing up against his hole and he shut right up. Sam slid into him slowly, and Dean gasped at the burning too-full feeling of it. It hurt, it was too much, it was so fucking good. He gripped the sheets tightly, gritting his teeth as Sam kept pushing into him. Finally, he stopped. Dean took in a few deep breaths. Sam was inside him. Sam was deeper inside him than anything had ever been. And it was amazing. Sam's hands stroked down his back, landing on his hips. Then he gave a short experimental thrust, and Dean about lost his mind.

"Fuck- do that again- move- please, move, please, just-" His words cut off into a sharp gasp as Sam slowly pulled almost all the way out of him, then slammed back in. "More-" Sam gripped his hips tighter and started thrusting into him, pace hard and punishing, rubbing hard against Dean's prostate with every thrust. "Oh, _fuck,_ Sammy- Fuck-" 

"Dean- God, you're so tight," Sam murmured, draping himself over Dean's body. His rhythm didn't stall for a second. He kept going, fast and hard. It had been maybe two minutes and it was already the best fuck of Dean's life. It had been two minutes and Dean was already getting close to coming again. Sam was just so big, filling him up so well, fucking him hard. And it was _Sam_ \- that was why- and it felt so fucking good. The pain slowly faded, leaving only overwhelming blinding pleasure. The world faded and only Sam mattered. 

"Sammy- Sammy- I'm gonna come- I'm sorry- I-fuck-"

"Come for me, Dean," Sam murmured. "Wanna feel you- C'mon-" His hand snaked down to close around Dean's cock, pumping him in time with his thrusts until Dean practically screamed out his orgasm. His vision went black, and he felt everything- and it all felt fucking incredible. He rode it out, letting out a sharp breath as Sam shoved him down onto the mattress, arms wrapping tightly around him. 

"So hot, Dean- you feel so good-" 

All Dean could do was whimper, exhausted, Sam's body heavy above him, still fucking him hard. It was too much- definitely still too much, but Sam would take care of him. Sam wouldn't push him too far. His mind sunk into a kind of blissed-out state. Sam held him tightly, his lips brushing against Dean's neck.

"God- I love you-" Sam whispered so softly Dean could barely hear him. He bit down on Dean's neck, and Dean moaned again, his voice so low and breathy he wasn't even sure it was his anymore.

"Love you, Sammy," he managed to whisper. "Love you- fuck, I love you-" Sam pulled out of him, and Dean made a noise he'd never admit to making. He felt so empty- so painfully empty- he needed Sam back in him- a second ago- Sam easily flipped him onto his stomach, giving Dean a grin and stroking his face for a long moment before tugging Dean's knees onto his shoulders. Sam stroked his body for a long moment before lining up and pressing back into him.

"Knew I could get you to say it," Sam said, breath uneven as he started pounding hard into Dean once more. "Wanna see your face. So good- so perfect for me, Dean. Gonna fuck you so deep." 

"Yeah," Dean agreed, his mind floating almost separate from his body, consumed with pleasure and the feel of Sam, forcing him to go limp and fucked out. "Yeah, Sammy- anything you want- anything." He was Sam's, wholly Sam's, and he'd do anything Sam wanted. His legs ached as Sam held them up, and he was so overstimulated it hurt. With each of Sam's thrusts, his cock rubbed up against Sam's abs, almost painful stimulation, but he let it happen, let himself melt into Sam. 

"Christ, Dean, could fuck you forever." Dean let out a gaspy half-moan he would never actually admit to making, his breath stuttering into Sam's shoulder as he fucked into him hard. His cock was hard again despite the fact that he'd already come twice. It was Sam- the fact that it was Sam-

"Weren't kidding- about that stamina," Dean managed to choke out. Sam chuckled, his hands bruising into Dean's hips. 

"Thought you could handle me, baby. Can you? Need me to stop?" Dean balked at the challenge, rolling his hips to meet Sam's. 

"Fuck, no. Cmon, fuck me," he gasped, utterly exhausted. Sam's fingers played at his chin, forcing his face upward once more. 

"Jesus, you're perfect," Sam whispered, catching Dean's lips in his before Dean could have a chance to protest. Dean kissed him back, tugging away to try to breathe. 

"Yeah," Dean gasped. Something about Sam, about the way Sam was rubbing against him had him instantly on edge. "Yeah, need you."

"So good for me, so good," Sam whispered, his arms sliding beneath Dean's body, holding him tightly. "Jesus, I could do this forever. I mean it."

"I needa feel you come," Dean said, his cock throbbing with just the thought of it. "Need you- come in me. Please, come in me, Sam, please-" 

Sam clung to him tightly, every thrust bringing Dean closer and closer to another peak. His hand grabbed the back of Dean's neck, pressing their lips together hard. Sam gasped into Dean's mouth, his thrusts growing erratic and primal. He groaned, gripping Dean tightly as he came. Dean felt his own cock twitch weakly as his body shivered in pleasure once more, his eyes rolling back in his head as he held on to Sam for dear life, gasping out Sam's name. He came down slowly, his whole body feeling wrung out and exhausted. Sam stroked Dean's hair, a huge heavy presence on top of him. 

"Okay, you're tellin' me we coulda been doing that for years and we weren't?" Dean asked when he'd recovered enough breath to speak. Sam laughed, pulling out of him. Dean hissed at the sharp sensation, and the sudden emptiness, but he let Sam tug him down to his chest and fold his giant arms around him. "Seriously- that- I've never had sex like that before, Sammy. That- holy fuck."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, running his hand through Dean's hair again. Dean closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy the sensation. "Best of my life."

"Bet if we practice we can get even better." Sam's laugh shook through his chest. 

"We're gonna practice." Dean didn't have to look to hear the giant grin in his voice. 

"What?"

"You said you loved me," Sam chanted in a sing-songy voice. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Of course I- you know we're brothers, right?"

"But you _said_ it. Fucking knew I could get you to. You just needed some good dick."

"Keep _bein'_ a dick and I'll tell you something horrifying," Dean warned. 

"Oh yeah? Youuu love me." Dean groaned. 

"Fine. You asked for it. Guess what?"

"What?"

"Bobby knows." Sam went silent. Dean propped himself up on Sam's chest, turning and grinning at the horrified expression on his brother's face.

" _What_?"

"Oh, it gets worse," Dean said, his grin widening. "Bobby knows and he told me to go for it with you." Sam's eyes widened and he shook his head emphatically. 

"No. Why would you _tell_ me that? Dean!" Dean chuckled to himself as he lay back on Sam.

"Because if I have to be scarred for life, you do too. That's just how this works." Sam groaned. 

"We are never fucking at his place."

"Never," Dean agreed, yawning. He felt like he was glowing. He couldn't remember being this happy, maybe ever. Sam's hand was in his hair again, and his heartbeat was loud in Dean's ear. And Sam loved him. Even if the world ended tomorrow, at least he had that.

~~~

"Not bad," Dean said, gently tracing Sam's new tattoo.

"You're not supposed to touch it," Sam admonished, his dimples on full display. 

"Yeah, well. What can I say? Just nice to see my claim where it belongs." Sam kissed him in a way that made Dean wonder if he should protest. Slow and sweet, his tongue pressing into Dean's mouth. This was verging on chick-flick territory for sure. But- he'd never fucking admit it out loud- it was kinda nice. Sam's fingers moved past his hip bone, to his own tattoo. "First tats and they're matching. Ya know, that's pretty gay," he said. Sam shook his head, but he couldn't hide his dimples.

"You're an idiot. How does yours feel?" Sam asked.

"Thought it'd hurt a lot more. Guess we're used to worse pain, so it didn't feel as bad as I thought it would."

"That's good. I mean, not that I'd mind if it hurt you," Sam said, his eyes sparkling as he traced the letters. SW. Tattooed in the style they were originally carved into the Impala. "I love it. Looks so good on you."

"Yeah, yours ain't so bad either," Dean murmured, stroking his chest and grinning at his initials on the right side of Sam's ribcage. "You're fucked forever, ya know. At least mine's hidable. Sorta. Every time you wear a swimsuit people are gonna know you're mine."

"Think they'll already know that."

"So you ever gonna get another one?" 

"Maybe," Sam said. "I'd get one to match you." Sam grinned at him, pressing hard into his fresh tattoo. Dean yelped, leaning into Sam instinctively until Sam eased up, gently rubbing his skin instead. "I love it. Means you're mine. Jerk."

"Hey, yours is bigger," Dean said, smiling despite himself as he brushed his fingertips down Sam's skin. "Bitch."

"You know," Sam started, dimples clear on his cheeks. "I know you're a size queen, but that doesn't mean my tat being bigger has anything to do with-"

"Means I'm better. And I win. That's what it means, Sammy."

"Uh huh. You win. I'm sure. Careful, I could make that 'Sam's' tat permanent."

"Eh, doesn't mean a damn thing more than 'SW.' I'm yours. Any idiot could see that."

"Damn right. Mine." Sam grinned at him, tugging at his hair. "It grew back so fast. I like that I can pull it."

"Maybe you shouldn't have cut it all off," Dean muttered, play-punching Sam's arm. "You're lucky it grew back so fast. And you better watch your ass. I'm not done with this prank war yet."

"Uh huh," Sam said, rolling his eyes. 

"I mean it. You better watch your ass." 

Sam's only answer was to flip him onto his back and crawl on top of him. Which was a pretty good answer, in Dean's opinion. He let Sam pin him, unable to stop grinning as his brother poked his ticklish sides like a twelve year old. Life wasn't so bad. Not when he had this.


	14. Epilogue

Mornings were quickly becoming Dean's favorite part of the day. Which was stupid. He hated mornings. Hated the getting up, the grogginess until the coffee kicked in, the way-too-early wakeup calls when they were working. But now, most of the time he woke up with warm heavy weight curled against his back and Sam's morning wood teasing at his ass while his breath brushed against Dean's neck. Most of the time, Sam's arms were wrapped tightly around Dean's body, holding him close. On really lucky mornings, Sam's hand would push into his boxers, and he'd wake to getting jerked off. And this was a lucky morning. Sam had his boxers pushed down to his knees when Dean woke to a finger pressing into him. He gasped, still loose and open from the night before, as his brain tried to catch up.

"Mmm- Sammy," he breathed, voice still heavy with sleep "One a these days I wanna wake up with your dick inside me."

"Yeah?" Sam asked, lightly biting his neck. Dean shivered, hips rocking as Sam added another finger. "Might be able to make that happen." Dean grinded down on the fingers, gasping as Sam found a good spot and rubbed it hard.

"Fuck- Yeah, right there- Jesus, Sam- feels good-" Sam's third finger joined the others, and Dean about lost his mind, biting his lip to keep from coming. The pain focused him, drawing him back to the moment. "C'mon- want your cock. Please-" he managed to get out. Sam's breathing hitched.

"So fucking hot, Dean," Sam whispered, gently tugging his fingers out. Dean groaned at the loss.

"Hurry up, bitch, need to feel you." He felt Sam grin against his neck, before sharp teeth bit down hard onto the space between his neck and shoulder. He yelped as Sam's tongue gently soothed the marks.

"Think you're actually the bitch right now, baby," Sam said, and Dean opened his mouth to protest the 'baby,' the bitch comment, the ridiculously chick-flicky note in Sam's voice, but Sam's cock pushed into him slowly and all that came out was a moan. Sam hissed into his skin, sucking at the bite-mark he'd left as he bottomed out inside of Dean. Dean tightened around him, gasping at the feeling of it.

"Good, fuck, so good for me," Sam whispered, and Dean melted back against him, clinging to the arm around his stomach as Sam started to move. He'd never tell Sam- not in a million years- but this was his favorite way to get fucked, still sleepy, as much of Sam's skin as possible pressed up against his, Sam's arms holding him close, Sam's warm breath in his ear, whispering filth and dark promises. "So fucking perfect, Dean- feel so good, gonna hold you down, fuck you all day."

And Dean wanted to answer- wanted to show Sam he wasn't the only one with such a dirty mouth- but he was already so strung out, so high on the feeling of Sam fucking him, so goddamn close to coming that all he could do was moan and cling to Sam for dear life, hips rocking back to meet each of Sam's thrusts. The world faded until nothing mattered but Sam all around him, the smell of sharp gunpowder, leather, something muskier and pure _Sam,_ and hot pleasure was building in his stomach, and they were safe and together and loved-

He came with a muffled shout, his mind going blissfully blank as he rocked haphazardly back against Sam, riding out the waves of pleasure. He heard Sam groan, felt him still, his fingers clamping down tight on Dean's hip, pushing into his own initials there, claiming him again. His grip softened, fingers playing over the slightly raised skin. Dean shivered into the feeling of it, unable to keep a smile off his face. For a long moment, they stayed still, regaining their breath. Sam's fingers interlocked with Dean's, and his lips brushed along Dean's neck.

"No chick-flick moments," he murmured sleepily. Sam ignored him. Dean had hoped he would, although he'd never admit it out loud. Sam didn't need him to. Sam knew.

"Love you," Sam whispered into his ear, biting down gently on his earlobe before returning to his neck.

"'M not a damn chewtoy, Sammy." The words were right there, though, right at the tip of his tongue, and they escaped from his mouth before he could stop them. "Love you too. Bitch." 

"Jerk," Sam said, and Dean could hear the smile in his voice. It was getting harder and harder not to say it, dammit. Since when had he turned into a girl that needed constant validation about being loved? Since when had he needed to constantly say it to Sammy? Sam knew. He'd always known. Dean didn't need to fucking _say_ it. It was embarrassing how often the words came to his lips, how often he let them fall, how often Sam's cute little smug smile showed up before he said it back. Sam's gigantic hand reached up to clobber Deans hair. It had finally grown back to its normal length, and Sam tugged on it so much Dean was surprised he didn't go full bald again. These days it felt like shaving his head would be more of a prank on Sam than on him, and he'd considered it more than once. He grinned, relaxing into the feeling. 

One of the phones buzzed from the bedside table and they groaned in unison, tugged from the post-sex stupor. Dean leaned forward, fumbling for it and managing to tug it to his ear.

"Yeah?" he asked, voice husky with sleep and sex. 

"Are you idjits still in bed? It's past ten!" Dean mouthed ' _Bobby_ ' to Sam, and Sam pulled out of him so fast Dean felt like a windup top. He let out a soft whimper of loss he prayed Bobby hadn't heard as Sam sat up, guiltily glancing around the room like Bobby was going to jump out of the closet. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Nine here," Dean said defensively. "And we don't have a case. We can sleep in."

"You're losin' your touch, Dean," Bobby teased. "Twenty-seven and already sleeping the whole day away." Dean groaned.

"Did you just call to be a dick? Not that I don't miss that, but-"

"Called to tell ya to get your asses back here for Sam's birthday. To take a few days off instead of working yourselves to the bone. Course I didn't realize you've been lounging around already-"

"Alright, alright," Dean grumbled. "Yeah, we'll come back for a few days. Celebrate Sam, pretend like he deserves it." Sam smacked his arm and he grinned over at him. "Gotta make sure you're stayin' out of trouble. No more deals with evil witches, right?"

"Witch saved your life, boy, show a little respect," Bobby said, but Dean heard the smile in his voice. "I'll plan on it, then. Found a case for ya, too. Up in Oregon. Figure since you're close you can go check it out."

"Florida, Bobby. I told you, bug me about cases in _Florida_. Oregon. Awesome. Bet it's _witches_ too."

"Nope, just a vamp or two causing trouble. Thought you could handle it, but if I need to drag Rufus' ass out-" Dean sighed as dramatically as he could. Bobby chuckled. "Thanks."

"Yeah, yeah." 

"Tell Sam I say get the hell out of bed."

"He says hi to you too. I'll call ya when we get to Oregon."

"Take care of yourself. Even hunters' funerals are expensive."

"Noted. Bye, Bobby." He shook his head at the phone for a minute before turning to grin at Sam's petrified expression.

"You think he knows we just fucked?" Sam asked. Dean's grin widened. 

"Course. He told me to tell you to keep your damn teeth out of my neck, you vampire. And he says if you spend any more time in my ass, you're gonna get stuck like that. And-" Sam tackled him onto his back, tugging his head back with his hair as he dug his fingertips into Dean's sides. Dean yelped, laughing as Sam held him down and tickled him. 

"That's so not funny, asshat."

"C'mon, Sammy, lighten up. It's a little funny. Your reaction's funny."

"And we gotta go for my birthday?" Dean frowned, looking up at Sam.

"You don't want to?"

"I was thinking I'd tie you up and do whatever I wanted with you for the weekend." Dean gulped, feeling hot again already. Sam's eyes gleamed as he pushed Dean into the mattress

"Bobby won't mind if we push him back a week," he managed to get out. Sam leaned down and kissed him, hand snaking to the back of Dean's neck as both of Dean's arms wrapped around him. By the time he pulled away, Dean was a little breathless. 

"You're perfect," Sam said, holding Dean's wrists to the mattress so he didn't get smacked for a chick-flick comment. Dean rolled his eyes, unable to help the little smile playing at the corners of his lips. 

"Nah, not fuckin' close." _But somehow I'm yours,_ he thought to himself. _And that's kinda better._ Sam slid off of him, tugging him to his feet. Dean groaned. "We could blow it off. Head down, see a few of your Stanford friends while we're in the area."

"Hey, it'll be fun. Vamps are your favorite. And who knows, maybe this one'll be a nazi vampire." Dean tilted his head, considering.

"Not quite as cool as a nazi werewolf, but I could dig a nazi vampire." 

They got dressed, bickering and throwing shit at each other as they quickly threw their things back into their bag. Dean drove, but he put on Celine Díon, half in mockery, half because once Sam stopped rolling his eyes and scowling out the window, he relaxed and got that dopey little smile on his face, mouthing the lyrics when he thought Dean wasn't watching. They drove along the coast, baby purring, windows down, shitty music on. When Sam reached out and grabbed his hand, Dean didn't even complain. A hunt ahead, Sam beside him, the wind on their faces... He could work with this.


End file.
